


the gun in the stars (we are in some old film about lovers in wartime)

by majesdane



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. | The Apocalypse started years ago. Madeline Costley is an troubled, orphaned teenager just trying to do make do with the life she has left. She finds herself drawn to Whiskey, the dangerous, hardened leader of a feared local gang. When a new virus starts spreading quickly, Maddie joins up with Whiskey, and finds herself caught up in an ongoing war between Whiskey and her old gang leader, Alpha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very, very, very AU. Also, in retrospect, really needs to be polished; this is just for archival purposes. It was written (unofficially) for NaNoWriMo 2009.

i just don't want to die without a few scars.  
\-- _fight club_ , chuck palahniuk

 

 

She wore a thick leather jacket and heavy Doc Martens that were faded at the toes from too much wear. She carried an old 7 Colt automatic pistol on her side and a hunting knife in her boot, along her left leg. She wore her hair up most of the time and never bothered to cut it. She sometimes drove, but she preferred her Harley instead, with its silver and black paint job, kept immaculately clean, unlike everything else, which was usually smeared with grease or dirt. Her face was marked up by several long scars (no one knew exactly why she had them, though speculation and imaginations ran wild and it certainly didn't hurt her reputation).  
   
Those who knew her well enough called her Claire, but as there was no one alive who fell into that category, she went by the name of Whiskey (which some said was due to the fact that her favorite drink was a single malt Scotch and others -- those who remembered anything about history -- said it was because in some ways she resembled Tom the Tinker from the Whiskey Rebellion back in 1791 (most thought this was a bit too far-fetched), but no one really knew for sure).  
   
Everyone in town was afraid of her, except for Maddie Costley, who'd had a run in with her last year regarding a jacked car. She'd come away with a split lip, bloodied nose, and blackened eye, but no worse for wear aside from that, and thus counted herself lucky, since most people who tried to lift something belonging to Whiskey ended up in a casket six feet underground (if they could find them that is).  
   
But Whiskey'd kicked her around for a bit and Maddie hadn't cried, which must have been what made Whiskey stop and pull her up by the back of her shirt and onto her feet. Whiskey's mouth, usually turned down in a scowl or set in a hard, grim line, had been displaying something that half-way resembled a smile. Maddie'd brushed herself off and Whiskey'd told her to stay the fuck away from her things, and that'd been the end of it.  
   
Maddie wouldn't go so far as to say Whiskey liked her, but she figured there must have been _something_ about her that Whiskey liked, otherwise she wouldn't be sitting at the bar right now nursing a warm bottle of Coors and watching Whiskey shoot pool with a few members of her -- Maddie hesitated to use the word "gang;" even if it was true, it seemed so tacky.  
   
Whiskey must have noticed her staring, because she caught Maddie's eye and nodded, once; it was an invitation to come over. Maddie pushed away her bottle and slid off the bar seat, more than aware of the whispers the other patrons  from behind cupped hands and the eyes that followed her as she crossed the room to join Whiskey at the pool table.  
   
"Hey," Maddie said, and immediately felt stupid, shoving her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket.  
   
"Join us for a game," Whiskey said, and fetched a pool stick from the rack on the wall, tossing it over to Maddie, who managed to catch it with a small amount of grace, grabbing the chalk from the end of the table and rubbing it furiously on the tip of the pool stick until her fingers were dusty and blue. "That's Sierra," Whiskey said, nodding to a wiry looking blonde with too much eyeliner on. "And that's Victor."  
   
Victor reminded Maddie of the guys that she used to play rugby with back in high school, back when things like that mattered -- back when there had _been_ a school to go to. He had short, cropped dark hair and a pleasant looking face, despite the frown he was currently directing at Maddie. He grunted in response when Maddie murmured a hello, and began setting up the balls for a new game.  
   
"We're playing doubles," Whiskey told her, reaching for her beer sitting on the window sill, taking a long swig of it. Maddie watched her swallow, stared at the slope of Whiskey's neck, the pale white skin. "It's you and me on one team," Whiskey said, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "Victor and Sierra on the other."  
   
"I haven't played much before," Maddie confessed, flushing a bit, suddenly feeling rather nervous. Sierra and Victor snickered and exchanged a look; Whiskey cleared her throat and they shut up.  
   
"Just take it easy, all right," she said, with a slight smile that was perhaps intended to make Maddie feel better. (It didn't.)  
   
Thankfully Whiskey broke and got them the lead early, knocking away five of the seven stripe balls before Victor and Sierra had a chance to put away even two. Maddie managed not to make a complete fool of herself and put in two stripes herself while Sierra was working to clear the rest of her and Victor's solids, just before Whiskey stepped in and pocketed the eight ball in the upper right corner, without so much as a second spent to contemplate the angle.  
   
Victor cursed and threw back the rest of his drink, but Whiskey gave Maddie another smiles and said, "You did alright, kid," even though they both knew that was a lie.  
   
(Still, Maddie was glad for the compliment, even if it wasn't at all deserved, because it was a hell of a lot better than what probably would have happened if she'd fucked up and lost the game.)  
   
"See you around, kid," Whiskey said, shrugging on her leather jacket over a crimson-colored tank-top that looked as if it'd seen much better days. She winked at Maddie as she walked by, Victor and Sierra tailing after her and ignoring Maddie completely.  
   
Maddie returned to the bar, a bit stunned.  
   
"What the fuck was that all about," Ivy, one of the bartenders asked, glancing out the door that Whiskey and the others had left through, pulling a beer out of the icebox under the bar and sliding it over to Maddie. It left a wet trail in its wake; Maddie ran her finger through it, writing her name as the water began to dry. "Since when are you on speaking terms with _her_?"  
   
"I'm not," Maddie said, popping off the cap and taking an eager gulp, her mouth suddenly terribly dry. "We just -- well, _she_ knows me. From when I tried to jack her car last year, remember? That big old Chevy Impala with a custom paint job. Anyway, she hasn't said two words to me before now, so I have no fucking clue what that's about."  
   
"Well, I wouldn't fuck around with her," Ivy said, wiping down the bar while Maddie chugged the rest of her beer. "I'm telling you; you were goddamn lucky to walk away with hardly a scratch on you. Maybe she liked you or maybe she was having a good day or maybe it was just a fucking miracle, but either way, she's not someone that you want to hang around with. You know what she does."  
   
Maddie slid her bottle back to Ivy. "I know what people _say_ she does."  
   
"She's bad news, Maddie."  
   
Maddie shrugged; Ivy passed her another Coors with a sigh.

;;

   
The first wave of the virus had knocked out all the usual suspects: babies, the elderly, the already sick. Almost no one over the age of ten and under the age of fifty died from it, so of course, no one panicked. If it had been perfectly healthy teenagers dropping dead from something that appeared, on the surface, to be a minor head cold, it would have been a different story. The nation would have been in a panic, scientists and doctors would have been scrambling to find a cure, while newspapers and journalists would have been trying to figure out what this was all about.  
   
But because it wasn't anything major, not by the country's regular standards, no one noticed. And of course, when it began spreading to other countries, especially third world ones, no one thought anything of it. It was a virus, after all, and these things always found a way to spread from place to place. Once it'd passed through the first world countries, they'd all washed their hands clean of the whole affair, as was to be expected.  
   
Then the second wave came through and threw the world into a panic.  
   
Maddie's mother and father had been the first to go; both of them just dropped dead one day at work. Just like that, falling to the floor wordlessly, without any kind of warning at all. Maddie's older sister had run off when it happened, not wanting to deal with any of it (Maddie hadn't heard from her since). And then pretty soon everyone else was dying too; newspapers and television stations eventually stopped bothering to report on it. Newspapers no longer printed the obituaries; there was no point; there were too many names to list.  
   
Her best friend died on the way to her house after school.  
   
That hit her harder than anything else, the way she'd just laid there, still and silent and cold in the casket, her hands folded on her chest and her hair parted on the wrong side. Maddie'd felt anger then, at the injustice of it, because this person lying there was _not_ Julia, it was just someone else in her body, someone who didn't know she hated the color gray (she was wearing a gray dress, for God's sake, it was _wrong_ ) and didn't know which side to part her hair on (the _left_ , _always_ on the left, since third grade).  
   
She'd ended up punching her hand through a wall, later, at the funeral reception, and had to be taken to the hospital to get stitches, she'd injured herself so bad on it. She still had the scars even now; she had been sixteen at the time.  
   
Twenty, now, and the memories of Julia and her parent's deaths had faded almost as much as the scars on her hand. It was better anyway, she knew, to put the past behind her. Life had become a lot rougher in the four years after the second wave had wiped out more than half the world's population; the government was in pieces now, what was left of it, and most places had just taken to governing themselves. In a place like Glen River, people like Whiskey ran the town, taking over the roles of judge, jury, and executioner.  
   
It wasn't so bad, though. As long as you kept your head down and didn't try to cross her, you were gold. In most people's opinion, the people Whiskey'd taken out deserved it anyway, and really, she was doing the whole damn town a favor by getting rid of the scum.  
   
Most people who lived in Glen River nowadays hadn't even lived in the town before the virus outbreaks; the bigger cities had been hit the hardest, and when people found out what was going down, they'd high-tailed it out to the smaller towns, out in the countryside, to see if maybe they could hold onto life for just a bit longer. Maddie didn't exactly fall into that category; Los Angeles had been her home, before the outbreaks, but she'd split once Julia died. There'd been no point in sticking around, what with her parents and best friend dead and her sister gone missing. She never even bothered to let anyone know she was leaving -- if, at that point, there was still anyone who cared enough to come looking for her, they'd find a note nailed to the front door that announced she was headed for whereabouts unknown.  
   
She'd emptied out her parents' bank account and taken the credit cards and beat up forest green Toyota Civic that they had gotten her for her sixteenth, three months earlier. Fuck not having a license, she'd thought, and hadn't been stopped once during the whole week (she'd driven around aimlessly for most of the days, passing through places and imagining what her life would be like there, before gunning the engine and speeding along past, deciding she'd keep looking for some place better).  
   
Glen River was where her car broke down (what a piece of crap it had turned out to be; her parents probably hadn't thought to get it tuned up or even checked to make sure it was in proper working condition), and it was where Maddie stayed. She found a room above one of the run-down shops in town and a job not too long after that, working at the gas station in the center of town.  
   
It was a dead end job to be sure, and one that she may as well not have even bothered to get paid for, but things were cheaper, now, so she was able to take care of herself just fine, and in the process managed to pick up a few tricks from the two mechanics working in the shop. Which is why she'd taken to jacking the odd car here and there and driving it out of town to be sold for parts; it'd been why she'd tried to get at Whiskey's Impala: the going rates for parts like that were high.  
   
Ivy was one of the first people Maddie met when she got to Glen River.  
   
She'd strode into the pub like she fucking belonged to be there and sat down at the bar, ordering two bottles of Coors (they'd always been her dad's favorite, even though Maddie herself didn't much like the taste). Ivy'd given her a hard look, like she was sizing Maddie up, but she'd pulled out the bottles without another moment of hesitation and slid them over, without so much as asking to see ID.  
   
The surprise must have registered on her face, because Ivy slid over and leaned on the bar in front of Maddie, fixing her in a level stare.  
   
"Kid," Ivy'd said. "I don't give a fuck if you're fifteen or sixty-fucking-seven. Business is business. But my boss, Topher, he doesn't exactly see eye-to-eye with me on this issue, you know? So I'll serve you if he isn't here, but if you want to drink when he's around, you either get yourself a really _good_ fake ID or you get it from somewhere else. Alright?"  
   
"Yeah, okay," Maddie'd agreed with a nod, uncapping her bottle and taking a long swallow.  
   
"I'm Ivy, by the way," Ivy had said, her face relaxing some, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile.  
   
"Maddie." Maddie had set the bottle down with a heavy _clink_.  
   
"You're new, aren't you?"  
   
Maddie nodded. "Just came in about a month ago. Got a place down on Highland Street. I'm working over at the gas station a few blocks over -- Chamberlain's."  
   
Ivy wiped at a bit of dirt on the counter Maddie couldn't see. "You like it?"  
   
Maddie had shrugged. "Any place is better than where I came from, you know?"  
   
That was something they could both agree on.  
   
In the end, Ivy had been the one to help her out, somehow managing to find a completely legitimate looking licence for Maddie, three weeks later. Topher wasn't around all that much anyway -- "This isn't really his kind of thing, you know," Ivy'd told Maddie, "but you know how it is. We all have to do shit that we weren't meant to do nowadays." -- so most of the time Maddie hung out at the bar after she got out of work, sipping on whatever drinks were in stock and playing pool -- a game which she'd never played before Glen River -- over in the corner by herself.  
   
It'd been one such night when Maddie first met Whiskey.  
   
The door'd banged open and Maddie looked up to see a tall, slender brunette striding in. It was only a moment later when Maddie noticed that the bar had gone unusually quiet for a Friday night, and that everyone's eyes were fixed on the woman who'd just come in.  
   
"Who the fuck's that?" Maddie'd leaned over and asked Chris, who was staring down into his glass of lager.  
   
"Whiskey," was all he'd said, and nodded to the front, where Whiskey'd sat down at the bar, drinking something amber-colored from a short-necked glass.  
   
"Yeah, but, who the fuck _is_ she?" Maddie'd asked again, mildly annoyed. This girl didn't look so tough; Maddie figured that she could probably take her out in a few good rounds.  
   
Chris turned and met her eyes. "She's not someone you want to fuck with," he told her, as if he'd read her mind. "You'd do best to keep out of her way, you hear? Whiskey doesn't care how young or old someone is; if you try and cross her, she'll fuck you up. Hell, you won't even _live_ to regret it." He finished off his drink and muttered something to himself under his breath.  
   
When Whiskey left, a few minutes later, she glanced over at where Maddie was sitting with Chris and she'd caught Maddie's eye for just a second. In that second, something unspoken had passed between them; Maddie'd stared right back, hard, and the corners of Whiskey's mouth had twitched, like she was trying to hold back a grin.  
   
And then she was gone.  
   
So Maddie came to know Whiskey, whose favorite hang out appeared to be Topher's, which was un-surprising, really, because there was really nowhere else in town to go. She came in only on the weekends, usually alone. She'd never talked to Maddie, until the night Maddie tried to jack her Impala. Or until last night, Maddie thought, rolling over in bed before kicking off the blankets, because it was too fucking _hot_ out for an October night.  
   
She stared up at the ceiling and wondered what it was that made Whiskey invite her over, why she'd even bothered to let Maddie live, because Whiskey wasn't exactly known for her sympathetic tendencies, especially when it came to thieves. But Whiskey'd let her off alright and now she'd treated Maddie like -- well, Maddie wasn't exactly _sure_ how she'd been treated, but it was definitely a lot better than how Whiskey treated everyone else, sans Victor and Sierra.  
   
It was fucking confusing, was what it was.

;;

Jack said, two days later, "So, I heard you and Whiskey are tight now."  
   
Maddie started. "Where the fuck d'you hear that?" she asked, slamming down the hood of the '94 Volvo they'd been working on and wiping her hands on her jeans, leaving thick grease stains.  
   
"Everyone's fucking talking about it," Jack told her, sitting down on one of the benches and propping his feet up on a rusted-out tool box, digging a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting up. "They're saying she invited you to come play a round with her and her -- whatever they are. Friends."  
   
"First of all," Maddie said, plopping herself down next to him and snatching away the cigarette, taking a greedy drag of it, "we're not 'tight', okay. She invited me to play a game, yeah. Big fucking deal. It's not like I'm the first person to ever have that happen to them." She exhaled a mouthful of smoke and passed the cigarette back to him.  
   
Jack inhaled deeply. "Yeah," he said, blowing out a row of smoke rings. "But there's also the matter of her _not_ offing you when she caught you trying to nick her car -- which, nice move, by the way, you could have gotten yourself fucking killed, you fucker -- and _that_ sort of thing doesn't usually happen to most people."  
   
"How the fuck should I know what goes on in her mind?" Maddie says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. "Maybe she just -- I don't know. Maybe she likes me."  
   
" _Likes_ you? She'd hafta do more than just fucking _like_ you; she loves that goddamn car more than anything else in this world, even if it does spend most of its days parked in the garage."  
   
Maddie threw up her hands. "I said, _I don't know_. No one's ever tried to steal it before, yeah? So maybe she liked the fact that someone in town actually had the balls to do it."  
   
Jack threw back his head and laughed, a loud, hoarse sound; Maddie felt her face go hot, despite herself.  
   
"Fuck off."  
   
"No, no," Jack said, flicking away the end of his cigarette and clapping her on the back. "It's just, well. You fancy yourself to be this big old, I dunno. A rebel or something. But you're just a kid; it's cute."  
   
"I'm _not_ a kid, for Chrissake. I'll be turning twenty-one in a few months."  
   
"And that's a fair bit younger than the rest of us," Jack remarked, standing up and brushing himself off. "Come on; let's take a break. Go down to Topher's and get something to drink. It's fucking hotter than hell out today. I could use a beer and some fucking air conditioning."  
   
"Yeah, sure," Maddie said, standing up with a sigh and following him out, pulling the door closed shut behind her.

;;

Whiskey was at the bar when Maddie and Jack arrived, drinking her usual single malt Scotch over in the corner and glaring at anyone who looked at her twice. Ivy was giving her the customary wide berth and she shot Maddie a helpless look as she and Jack settled into a booth by the old-fashioned jukebox, which had probably been out of order since before the virus outbreaks.  
   
Ivy arrived a few minutes later, with a beer for each of them, wiping her wet hands on her shirt and brushing her bangs back with a heavy sigh.  
   
"What's she doing here?" Jack asked, nodding in Whiskey's direction. "She never comes in during the day, especially not during the week. What's up?"  
   
"Fuck if I know," Ivy said, glancing over quickly, to where Whiskey was swishing around the contents of her glass idly, while watching the Channel 3 news, the only thing that was still on these days. "Just fuckin' showed up and sat right down and asked for her usual."  
   
Jack frowned, sipping his drink. "That doesn't bode well. Is there something going down today?"  
   
Ivy said, "There hasn't been anything going down for goddamn _ages_ , Jack. I think she's here for someone. And I wouldn't be surprised if it was _her_ Whiskey was looking for," Ivy went on, looking pointedly at Maddie, who felt her heart skip a beat.  
   
"There's nothing fucking going on between us," Maddie protested with a furious whisper. "And if there _is_ something going on, it's _her_ issue, not mine."  
   
Jack made a _tch_ sound and took another drink of his beer.  
   
"Whatever," Maddie sighed, pushing herself up and grabbing her pack of Lucky Strike and lighter. "I'm going outside for a smoke, okay? You two can dick around and theorize about how you think Whiskey and I are like this," she held up two crossed fingers, "but I don't want to be here to listen to it."  
   
Outside, she lit up quickly, inhaling deeply, lungs burning from the smoke.  
   
This was fucking stupid. There was obviously something up with Whiskey, that was for sure, but Maddie was far from convinced that it had anything to do with her. Just because Whiskey wasn't shooting her death glares or shooting holes in her tires didn't mean that they were close. Fuck, it didn't even mean that Whiskey _liked_ her; Maddie was still convinced that it was because of respect, nothing more, why Whiskey had started treating her different from everyone else.  
   
"You shouldn't smoke," a voice said behind her, and Maddie jumped, turned around to find Whiskey behind her, leaning against the wall by the door and lighting up herself. "It's bad for your health." Whiskey flashed her a wicked grin and Maddie felt suddenly very self-conscious.  
   
"Yeah, well," she said, exhaling, "you're one to talk, aren't you? The picture of healthy living."  
   
Whiskey laughed. It was different from how Maddie had imagined Whiskey's laugh would sound, light and cheerful. It was both creepy and disarming at the same time, and Maddie steeled herself in the event that Whiskey all of a sudden took it into her mind to jump her and start a fight. But Whiskey just laughed and tipped her head back,  
blowing smoke out at the sky.

"You're funny, kid," she said, shaking her head and taking another slow drag of her cigarette.  
   
"Don't _call_ me that," Maddie said, bristling. "If you insist on fucking talking to me and making everyone think that that I'm like, I don't know, your new little 'gang member', as least call me by my fucking name."  
   
Whiskey looked up, fixing her in a hard stare. "All right," she said, after a moment. "What's your name then?"  
   
"Maddie." She tossed the smoldering end of her cigarette away. "Maddie Costley."  
   
"Maddie Costley," Whiskey repeated, dropping her cigarette to the ground and crushing it out with the toe of her boot. "You tried to nick my car."  
   
Maddie looked down, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Yeah. Sorry."  
   
Whiskey shrugged, crossing her arms and staring out down the road, relatively empty save for a few cars parked against the curb outside of shops. Maddie fidgeted, uncomfortable in the silence, and reached for another smoke. At last, Whiskey cleared her throat; Maddie looked up.  
   
"How'd you end up like this? In Glen River, earning a rep for stealing cars. I remember you from when you first came in. At Topher's."  
   
"I remember," Maddie said wistfully, thinking back to the day. "And I'm not scared of you. I wasn't then, and I'm still not now. And I'm also wondering why we're standing around having a fucking conversation, why you even give a shit about what happened to me."  
   
"Tell me or don't tell me," Whiskey said flatly. "I don't give a fuck either way."  
   
Maddie kicked at the ground, suddenly feeling rather childish indeed. "My parents died, all right? They died and my sister fucked off and -- I don't know. It was a long time ago. And what you said about me -- isn't that the pot just calling the kettle black? So, fuck you. If there's one person here who's fucked up, it's definitely not me."  
   
She shouldn't have said it. She knew right after the words came out that it was the wrong thing to say. Whiskey's grin vanished, her mouth set in a grim line, her eyes dark now. Maddie's cigarrette, left smoldering and forgotten between her fingers, burned her, and she dropped it with a curse, bringing her mouth to her hand.  
   
It was then when the punch came, straight out of nowhere; Whiskey knocked Maddie in the stomach so hard that she fell backwards, landing hard on her back with a grunt, the wind knocked out of her. And then Whiskey was on top of her, on her knees straddling Maddie's waist, and Maddie saw stars as Whiskey's fist collided with her face -- once, twice, five times.  
   
And then Whiskey pulled back, breathing hard, and Maddie stared up defiantly at her through watery eyes. "Fuck you," she spit out, tasting blood in her mouth, heavy and coppery.  
   
"You don't fucking _talk_ to me like that," Whiskey growled, and for a second Maddie thought Whiskey was going to hit her again and she flinched unintentionally. "I like you, kid, but _no one_ talks to me like that. You get me?"  
   
Maddie didn't respond, just glared back up at her with eyes that she could already feel beginning to swell shut.  
"Come on then," Whiskey said, after a long pause, getting off of Maddie and yanking Maddie up to her feet by the front of her shirt, now dirty with dust and blood. "Let's get you fixed up."  
   
"Fuck off," Maddie said, shrugging her off and trying very hard not to cry.  
   
Whiskey let her go. Maddie ran off, heading back for her room, where she could clean herself up and try and find an excuse for looking so banged up that didn't involve her smart mouthing off to Whiskey, because if there was one thing she _didn't_ need was one more reason to think Whiskey felt sorry for her or something.  
   
"Right," Maddie said later, looking at herself in the dirty mirror in the bathroom, touching her nose gingerly and wincing. "She feels fucking _sorry_ for me."  
   
She probably would have laughed, if she didn't think it'd hurt to.

;;

   
"Jesus fucking Christ," Kate said later that evening when she was closing up shop, as Maddie tumbled down the stairs with a massive headache and a badly bruised face. "What the fuck happened to you?"  
   
"Had a run in with a door," Maddie said, managing her best fuck-all smile. "And I'm going out tonight. You coming?"  
   
"There's nowhere to go," Kate told her, locking up the register. "Unless by _out_ you mean you're gonna go try to swipe something and then get fucked up. In which case, count me out. I've got better things to do."  
   
"Yeah?" Maddie asked, leaning on the counter. "Like what, exactly."  
   
Kate rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to go out and commit crimes with you. End of story. Besides, from what I hear, you and -- "  
   
"I swear to _God_ \-- "  
   
" -- Well, it's true, in't it?" Kate said, with a knowing smirk. "And I'm betting she's the reason you look like absolute shit right now, am I right? There's no point in denying it -- " Maddie closed her mouth and frowned " -- because I know what she's like. What happened?"  
   
Maddie scowled, reached across the counter to grab another pack of Lucky Strike. "I told her she was fucked up."  
   
Another eye roll. "I can imagine she didn't exactly like that? You're a stupid fucker sometimes, you know that? Just," she threw up her hands, as Maddie lit up, "try not to get yourself killed, yeah? We've got enough problems with the virus outbreaks on our hands. You're lucky enough to have survived the first two rounds; why do y'wanna get your life cut short now?"  
   
Maddie sniffed, inhaled. "This doesn't seem much like a life to me."  
   
" _Go_ ," Kate said, and practically shoved her out the door before slamming it closed. "And don't come back drunk, either," she shouted, through the glass. "You're terrible when you're drunk."  
   
Maddie ignored her.

   
;;

   
She didn't have many pills left.  
   
Drugs had been easy to get, in the beginning, a classic case of too much supply and not enough demand, much like everything had been after the second outbreak. But now, with fewer people around, enough of it just wasn't getting made, and prices on everything had gone through the fucking roof. Maddie liked E best, though she could only get it once a year, and that was after saving up, so she counted her pills (usually she got about five or six at once, at four hundred dollars a pop; it was all she could afford) and saved them up for special occasions.  
   
This was a fucking special occasion, she figured, with her face and head hurting so bad that just walking made her dizzy and a few times she felt almost like passing out. Whiskey's most recent bang-up of her hurt loads more than the first time; probably because, Maddie thought, she'd come right out and insulted her to her face, as opposed to just trying to nick her car (a pretty bad offense in Whiskey's eyes regardless, but less so on the grand scale of things). She sat down in a field on the edge of town and fished the little plastic bag out of her coat pocket.  
   
Maddie took one out, holding it carefully between her thumb and index finger. She dropped it on the palm of her hand, looked at it. It seemed so small. She sighed and then popped it in her mouth, swallowing it dry. Licking her lips, she closed up the bag and tucked it away again, before lying down and closing her eyes, waiting for the drug to kick in.  
   
When she opened her eyes, after what felt like hours later, the stars had come out.  
   
They looked too bright, like diamonds, almost, against a black velvet backdrop. They seemed so close; she reached out, thinking maybe she could grab one and pull it down. Keep it tucked in her pocket for good luck, and when she dreamed she saw Julia lying there, all pale and wrong, and she woke up crying, the light would be there to make her feel better. Yeah, she thought, sitting up with a smile. It'd be great.  
   
She felt like dancing; she stood up, spun around in a circle, laughed at the way the world was all tilted, how everything looked upside down and pretty and bright all at the same time. And then she imagined she saw Whiskey standing a few feet away, the yellow-red light of the end of her cigarette flickering in the dark.  
   
And then Whiskey _was_ there, in front of her, reaching out and grabbing Maddie by the arms to hold her still.  
   
"What're you on?" Whiskey asked, blowing smoke in Maddie's face.  
   
"Pills," Maddie sang cheerfully, as the wind picked up. "Wonderful, magical pills."  
   
Whiskey smirked. "You're fucking _gone_ , aren't you. Come on; give me one."  
   
Maddie frowned, even as she began to reach for the bag, retrieving it from her jacket pocket and handing it over reluctantly. "What do you want them for?"  
   
"I want to fly with you," Whiskey said, tossing back one of the pills and pulling out a small flask from inside her leather jacket and taking a long swig of it. "Want some?" she asked, flourishing the flask in front of Maddie, who took it and stared at it. "Go on. It's good."  
   
It tasted bitter and burned her throat; Maddie made a face. Whiskey laughed.  
   
"Don't like the taste of whiskey then, do you," Whiskey laughed again, and took her flask back, taking another long drink, wiping at her mouth with her sleeve with a satisfied sigh. "It's an acquired taste."  
   
"You would say that, wouldn't you," Maddie sighed, and spun around again, once, before falling back down on the ground. Whiskey tucked her flask back in her jacket and sat down next to her, smoke drifting up from the tail end of her cigarette; Maddie watched the smoke rise, the lazy swirls disappearing up into the glittering blackness of the night sky.  
   
They sat there in silence for what felt like ages. When Whiskey finished her smoke, she ground the ends of it into the dirt, sighed, lay back beside Maddie, her arms folded beneath her head. Maddie, tired of the stars now, turned and looked at Whiskey, who had her eyes closed; Maddie watched the steady rise and fall of Whiskey's chest, looked at the curve of her neck, the scars running across her face. She was surprised to discover that Whiskey was actually pretty, up close, when she wasn't scowling at everyone around her or kicking the shit out of someone.  
   
And maybe it was just because of the drugs, but Maddie found herself thinking that Whiskey was alright, sometimes. It wasn't as if Maddie had hated her -- though she did resent the fact that Whiskey'd beaten her up good and proper twice now -- but she'd never actually thought of Whiskey as _nice_ before now.  
   
An acquired taste, Maddie thought, suddenly, and laughed.  
   
Whiskey opened her eyes, looked at her, met Maddie's gaze. Her eyes were dark, but not like earlier that day; they were softer now, somehow, and Maddie couldn't keep looking. She turned back up to the sky and Whiskey made an amused sound beside her, shifting until she was sitting up once more, arms wrapped around her knees.  
   
"What're you thinking about?"  
   
"You," Maddie said, surprised at her own words. Whiskey seemed surprised too, because she glanced over with a startled expression on her face. It was gone a second later, though, replaced by what Maddie was beginning to believe was her default expression: a scowl.  
   
Whiskey said, "Everyone thinks about me."  
   
"It's hard not to," Maddie admitted, sitting up as well. "Can you feel it? The drugs, I mean. They must have kicked in by now."  
   
"Yeah," Whiskey said, staring out at the field, the trees off in the distance. "What do you think about, Maddie Costley, when you think about me?"  
   
Maddie shrugged. "You're cool. Even if I'm pretty sure my face is going to be looking like this for the next month or so. I mean, everyone in town is afraid of you, but like I said: I'm not. I sort of like, well. I suppose you could say that I respect you, if that doesn't come off as sounding too weird. You're definitely strong, too, and I don't mean just physically. I mean, as a person. I don't think you let things get to you. But you probably don't let people in, either, so that helps, I assume." She eyed Whiskey warily. "This isn't going to get me beat down, right? Saying that you're closed off? Because you fucking _asked_."  
   
Whiskey snorted. "You're kind of a punk, kid," she said, though not unkindly. "And you kind of deserved that, you know? Anyway, I owed you one; I let you off far too easy last year. People talk, you know. I can't let them think I've gone soft."  
   
"Yeah? Well, either way, everyone here still wouldn't want to run into you on the street, daylight or not."  
   
"Why you?" Whiskey asked, after a moment.  
   
"What?"  
   
"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Whiskey clarified, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her palms.  
   
Maddie shrugged again. "I don't know. Can't really say, I don't think. Just, you don't scare me."  
   
Another long silence.  
   
"There's probably another wave coming, you know," Whiskey finally said, lighting up once more. "I heard them talking about it on the news. They said this _thing_ , whatever it is -- it isn't over yet. It's just a matter of time. And when that time comes, we're all gonna be hit hard by it."  
   
"I'm not worried," Maddie said, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. "I've survived two waves of the virus already; I don't see why I couldn't survive a third. Or a fourth. Or however many we're going to have. But the way I see it, I'm only going to go down in one way: old age."  
   
Whiskey made a _tch_ sound. "That's the sort of optimism kids like you always have, isn't it? You think you're fucking invincible. You could get shot. You could get hurt and die of an infection. You could starve. It's foolish to think the virus is the only thing to worry about."  
   
"Well, I suppose I have _you_ to worry about too, don't I," Maddie added with a grin. "One day I reckon you're gonna get tired of having to kick me around and will just cap me off. Yeah?"  
   
The wind picked up then, and it was only then when Maddie noticed Whiskey'd taken her hair down, the wind tugging a few strands along playfully. It was a dark chestnut color, falling in waves around her shoulders and down her back. It looked nice, Maddie thought. Whiskey wasn't really what Maddie would consider _pretty_ , except, Maddie thought, despite herself, she sort of was. In the dark Whiskey's scars were barely visible, and her skin was so pale (it reminded Maddie of alabaster).  
   
Maddie shook her head. The E was doing things to her; that had to be it.  
   
"This has been one hell of a crazy week," she said, after a little while, shaking her head with a smile. "And it's because of you, you know. What were you playing at, inviting me over to play a round with you and your friends? It's not as if we're really on speaking terms -- let alone _good_ terms. I just don't get it."  
   
In the distance, thunder rumbled lowly, and Whiskey sighed and stood up, brushing herself off.  
   
"I'm just curious about you," she said, pulling her hair back up into its usual ponytail.  
   
"You're very strange," Maddie told her, crushing her cigarette out into the ground and standing up as well. "So, what does this mean? Are you just going to keep fucking doing this? Popping up everywhere from now on? Because let me tell you: it's very fucking annoying."  
   
Whiskey grinned and said, "We'll see, won't we?"  
   
Maddie watched her leave, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and striding off, ponytail swaying slightly from side to side as she walked. Maddie didn't move until Whiskey had faded into the distance and there was another low rumble of thunder, louder this time.  
   
She sighed, kicked at a rock, headed off for home.

   
;;

   
The weeks passed slowly.  
   
Maddie didn't have another run in with Whiskey until two months later. She saw Whiskey around, of course, especially when she went to Topher's on Friday nights, but Whiskey was always with Victor and Sierra and she seemed hellbent on ignoring Maddie -- who was more than grateful to return the favor. It seemed that talk about them had died down, another thing Maddie was grateful for, because she didn't have to keep listening to people wonder out loud why it looked as though Whiskey had taken a liking to her.  
   
It'd stormed something awful for the three days following the night Maddie'd dropped E and inexplicably ended up sitting in an empty field and talking to Whiskey, and the town had nearly flooded because of it; Glen River wasn't used to these sort of downpours, especially not for so long, and for two days afterward the streets were a mess because of it.  
   
Kate'd gotten into a fit because the downstairs of the shop had been flooded in half a foot of water, and Maddie had made sure to stay clear of her then, because Kate could be very mean when angry. (It hadn't stopped Maddie from lifting a few packs of Lucky Strike from her, though; she just made sure to do it when Kate wasn't around to go off on her.)  
   
Life had pretty much returned to normal at this point -- or at least as normal as it usually was, Maddie thought, because she didn't really think that life now was really normal in the _slightest_ , but at least Whiskey was leaving her alone now. Maddie's face had healed up fairly nicely from its beating, but her nose was still a bit tender from being broken (Topher'd fixed it for her, snapping it back into place, and she'd nearly punched him by accident, because it hurt so fucking _much_ ).  
   
Sometimes, oddly enough, she caught herself thinking about Whiskey. It was usually when days were slow at the gas station or she didn't have anywhere to go that night, halfheartedly watching television on her bed. She hadn't seen or heard of Whiskey in weeks; she wondered what Whiskey and her gang were out doing, wondered what they could possibly be doing, because there wasn't another town for miles and miles around and Glen River itself didn't exactly provide a plethora of entertainment. She imagined Whiskey out there on the road, maybe on her Harley or behind the wheel of her old Chevy Impala, the damn thing, just waiting for something to happen. Or maybe she made things happen herself, Maddie thought, and imagined instead, Whiskey starting fights or stealing cars or whatever it was she and her companions did.  
   
Maddie hadn't been around Glen River when Whiskey'd earned her reputation, so she didn't really know what Whiskey _did_ ; all she knew was that Whiskey wasn't the kind of person you wanted to fuck with. Aside from getting a few beat-downs by Whiskey's own hand and seeing a few corpses here and there (Whiskey wasn't exactly discreet about killing people, usually just dumped them off on a side-road, and it was obvious when it was her who did the person in; a slit throat was her calling card), she hadn't been witness to any of Whiskey's infamous cruelty.  
   
It wasn't as if she thought the rumors weren't true, but sometimes she recalled that night in the field, before it started to storm, and the Whiskey there just didn't seem capable of half the things people said she was. But then, Maddie supposed, maybe that was the point.  
   
"What's up?" Maddie asked one Saturday evening, sitting at the bar and sipping a rum and cola while watching Ivy wipe down the bar.  
   
"It's been quiet here," Ivy sighed, tossing her dishrag under the counter and helping herself to a small glass of something on tap. She leaned on the bar across from Maddie. "But I'm sure you know that."  
   
"Because Whiskey's not here." Maddie took another sip of her drink; the bottom of her glass left a wet ring on the dark mahogany bar counter.  
   
Ivy took a gulp of beer, wiped a bit of foam away from her mouth. "It's partly because of that." Another gulp, this time large enough to finish off her drink. "But, you don't watch the news much, do you? They're saying another outbreak's going to happen. Soon, even. They say it hasn't gone away for good, that it only went into remission or whatever the fuck. I don't know," she waved her hand dismissively. "The details are all a bit sketchy."  
   
"Yeah, I heard about something like that." Maddie swirled the contents of her glass. "Whi--someone mentioned it to me some weeks back. Said that it was only a matter of time."  
   
Ivy sighed. "I don't want to think about it, you know? Glen River's not exactly the place I'd choose to live in, but it's become home. It's been six years almost. Fucking hell. I don't want to think about losing it all."  
   
"Well, don't. I mean, being worried or depressed; that's not going to help much, is it? We know we're going to get hit by this _thing_ , whatever it is, and there's not a whole fucking lot we can do about it, is there? So just enjoy it while you can and hope you fucking come out alive when all's said and done."  
   
"Please, spare me the lecture," Ivy laughed, refilling her glass. "You're talking about enjoying life -- well, what kind of life is this anyway? Besides, most of us are hardly living as it is now."  
   
" _I_ live," Maddie said defensively.  
   
Ivy snorted, shaking her head. "You don't live. You just survive. Don't get them confused; they're not the same thing."  
   
Maddie left shortly after that, feeling angry and frustrated. Ivy sounded just like Kate. And Kate sounded just like Whiskey.  
   
It was more than annoying.

   
;;

   
The next time Maddie saw Whiskey was when Whiskey kicked down her bedroom door.  
   
"What the actual fuck," Maddie groaned, sitting up in bed from where she'd been nursing a bottle of vodka -- stolen from Kate downstairs two nights ago when Maddie was supposed to be watching the store for her -- and listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival on an old transistor radio she'd found last summer in the back of the gas station's mechanic shop (it only picked up one channel -- sometimes two, if she was lucky) and wondering if maybe it was a bit too early on a Saturday morning to get loaded.  
   
"That wasn't even _locked_ ," she said, a bit more forcefully this time, as Whiskey brushed herself off and pushed the hair out of her eyes. "Did you seriously have to just kick it down like that? Fucking hell."  
   
"Get up," Whiskey said, her mouth set in a hard line.  
   
Maddie sighed, rubbed at her eyes. "What for?"  
   
"Because I want to take you out for a lovely date in the countryside, why the fuck do you _think_ , you idiot, you're in fucking _danger_. So _get up_."  
   
Maddie didn't move.  
   
"Get the fuck up or I will leave you in this town to fucking _rot_ ," Whiskey said, more than a bit impatient now, arms crossed.  
   
"What the fuck are you _on_ about," Maddie asked wearily.  
   
Whiskey rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ you don't know. Stupid fuck." She took a step forward, rapped Maddie smartly on the side of her head. Maddie winced, tightened her grip on the vodka bottle.  
   
"Or you could just _tell me what's happening_. Goddamn it, I can't read your fucking mind."  
   
Scowling, Whiskey said, in a deliberately slow and annoying way, "The-virus-is-killing-people-and-turning-them-into-zombies-which-will-then-eat-you. So get the fuck up and get some stuff packed. I'm not waiting for you; I'll give you five fucking minutes and that's it. Victor and Sierra are waiting for us outside."  
   
There was a pause.  
   
Then, "You're fucking shitting me," Maddie said, rolling her eyes and swallowing a gulp of vodka with a grimace. " _Zombies_? You're outta you're fucking mind, I'm telling you."  
   
"Look," Whiskey said, grabbing the bottle away from Maddie, ignoring Maddie's loud groan of protest. "I don't give a damn if you believe me or not; all I know is what I've seen and heard. But either way, I'm not going to let you sit here in Glen River and die, okay? I'm fucking taking you with me."  
   
"What?" Maddie whined, sitting down on her bed and watching as Whiskey began pulling things out of her drawers and tossing them into the middle of the floor. "Go _where_ , exactly."  
   
Whiskey opened her closet, rummaged around until she found Maddie's duffle bag. "Some place that's not _here_ , obviously," she said, packing up the clothes. "It's too dangerous to just stay in one place. Anyway, there's no protection here at all; we'd be fucking sitting ducks. So come _on_ ," she said, shoving the bag into Maddie's hands, looking at her expectantly.  
   
Maddie looked at Whiskey, then down at the bag in her hands. She suddenly felt very disconnected from the world, as if it weren't really her hands holding the bag full of clothes, as if it was someone else sitting on the bed, listening to Whiskey talk about leaving town and fucking _zombies_ and all sorts of things that didn't make sense. She looked at the few books on her nightstand -- Atwood, Pratchett, Nix -- their spines broken and pages bent from so many re-readings, thought, _well then_ , and stood up, slinging the bag over her shoulder.  
   
"Good girl," Whiskey said, and led the way out the door.  
   
Outside, Victor was leaning against the Impala, arms crossed, looking bored. Sierra was in the back with the door open, head tipped back lazily, smoking. They both turned when Maddie and Whiskey came outside, Maddie still a bit tipsy from the vodka. Victor went around and opened the trunk and Whiskey motioned for Maddie to toss her bag in; she did, noting that they'd stuffed the trunk full of pretty much everything: clothes, guns, ammunition, food.  
   
Whiskey was serious about this, apparently.  
   
"Come on then," Whiskey said impatiently, and held the door open so that Maddie could slide into the backseat beside Sierra.  
   
"Hey," Sierra said, blowing smoke into Maddie's face. "You ready?"  
   
"Yeah, sure," Maddie said, though she wasn't really sure what she was meant to be ready for. Victor and Sierra exchanged a look and Maddie felt self-conscious for all of two seconds, before Whiskey slid into the front seat and behind the steering wheel, turning the car on and gunning the engine. Victor slipped into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed behind him, and Whiskey caught Maddie's eye in the rearview mirror.  
   
"You okay, kid?" she asked, and it seemed less teasing than usual; more sincere. "You should probably say goodbye to Glen River now, because you're not going to see it again."  
   
Maddie glanced out the window, looked at the row of shops along Main Street, the fields off in the distance, the houses down at the end of the corner, and decided that it didn't really bother her if she never came back.  
   
"Alright, let's go," she said, and saw a hint of a smile play along Whiskey's lips, as she gunned the engine again and switched gears.  
   
"Let's go then," she said, and stepped on the gas.

   
;;

   
They drove for three days straight.  
   
Whiskey was at the wheel, usually, unless she'd gotten to the point where she was just too exhausted to continue, and then Sierra took over. Victor stayed at shotgun and Maddie swore she never saw him even nod off once, even though she herself drifted off to sleep a few times, waking up to find her head against the window or on Sierra's shoulder (who never pushed her away until Maddie'd woken up). Once she thought she woke up leaning against Whiskey, who stroked her hair silently, but Maddie fell back asleep again an instant later, so she assumed it was something she'd only dreamed up.  
   
"Where are we going?" she asked Sierra one day, while they were waiting for the bathroom at a gas station in Nevada, Whiskey filling up the Impala and Victor inside buying them smokes.  
   
Sierra shrugged, crossing her arms. "Nowhere in particular, I don't think."  
   
"Great," Maddie sighed, kicking idly the brick wall. "We're going to be driving for fucking forever."  
   
"We'll stop when Whiskey says," Sierra told her in a condescending voice, as if speaking to a child. "She knows what she's doing. She's been through this before."  
   
"We've _all_ been through this before," Maddie said impatiently, checking her watch; it was three o'clock.  
   
Sierra rolled her eyes, just as the door to the bathroom opened and a woman came out, hurrying past the two of them. "You don't know what you're talking about," Sierra said, and shut the door forcefully behind her.  
   
Maddie was in a sour mood for the rest of the day after that. She hated being talked down to, especially by Sierra, who she barely even knew. The only thing Maddie actually knew about her was that she spent all her time with Victor, who she was obviously fucking; they'd stopped at an abandoned roadhouse one time and Maddie'd heard them in the middle of the night. It had been downright disgusting and Maddie hadn't been able to fall asleep for the rest of the night (Whiskey'd laughed at her the next morning when Maddie grumbled about being kept up).  
   
She wanted to ask Whiskey _why_ , why out of everyone in Glen River, Whiskey had decided that she was worth saving. They hardly knew each other and any interaction they'd had up till the point where Whiskey'd kicked in her door had been less than civil. And Whiskey didn't really seem big on the whole saving people thing, which made Maddie doubly confused. She considered asking Whiskey about it, but in the end decided it was perhaps best to just not look a gift horse in the mouth.  
   
If Whiskey wanted to be charitable, it was fine with Maddie, who wouldn't have known how to handle herself had she happened to chance upon any zombies on her own.  
   
As it was they'd only encountered five infected humans on their country-wide trek thus far; it'd been in St. Louis, when they'd taken shelter on the second floor of a deserted warehouse. They'd been woken up in the morning by Victor shouting about zombies outside surrounding the Impala and Whiskey'd been the first one on her feet, yanking her Colt out of the holster on her belt and fetching the knife she carried in her boot, ready for action.  
   
Victor'd tossed her a gun before they'd gone outside, telling her to "Shoot at any of those fucking things if it moves and to expect a strong kickback," the first of which she'd done -- quite successfully, at that, she'd managed to hit the head after only two shots -- and the second of which she hadn't been prepared for. The shock had traveled up the length of her arm and her shoulder had ached for the rest of the morning. Whiskey'd easily taken care of most of the infected ones, barely even flinching when one got a shade too close to her; she'd blown it's head off without so much as blinking, which Maddie secretly found impressive. Victor and Sierra did a sweep of the area once they were finished, but it was thankfully clear.  
   
Maddie hadn't been able to get the image of the zombies out of her head; they'd looked so human -- well of course, she told herself, since they _were_ human -- but the smell had been awful, the scent of decay thick and nauseating. She hadn't thrown up later, but she'd come close. Whiskey and the others acted like it was no big deal, which, Maddie figured, also made sense, because more likely than not they'dt seen worse.  
   
That night she hadn't been able to sleep at all, just kept seeing those dead, rotting corpses, the sickening way that they lurched forward, how they just burst apart when a bullet got them.  
   
Things had been quiet for a few days after that, until they'd gotten to Springfield, where they hit another round of zombies. There'd been more than they could have possibly taken out by themselves in one go, so they'd parked the Impala in the back lot of a shopping center and taken shelter inside for a few days. Most of the food had gone rotten at this point, but all the canned good were still edible and it was the first time they'd had a proper meal in ages.  
   
They raided the weapons store for ammunition, sneaking out to dump as much as they could in the Impala, along with as much food as they could fit. Maddie had nicked herself a .9mm and three boxes of bullets, though she doubted that she'd ever actually get a chance to fire a gun. She also grabbed a Bowie, mostly as a spur of the moment thing, but she reasoned that it didn't hurt to have at least a few different weapons for self-defense.  
   
Whiskey's plan was to pick the zombies off bit by bit, which turned out to be the best thing she'd come up with yet, and by the end of three days they'd managed to finish off around a hundred or so of them without so much as breaking a sweat or getting injured. When Victor picked off the last one, hitting it dead between the eyes, Whiskey'd holstered her gun and said, "Well, that's it then," and headed off to where the Impala was waiting.  
   
Maddie'd been expecting more pockets of zombies to crop up, but the further they drove north the more the areas seemed to clear up; they only encountered a handful of zombies in a week, and not even at the same time. Sierra told her that it made sense, that unlike all the zombie apocalypse movies that Maddie had watched growing up, most of the world's population had been killed off already, thus turning down the percentage of people who were likely to get the zombie infection.  
   
"Also," Sierra had gone on, while cleaning her gun, "people are a lot more careful these days, you know? They know how to arm and protect themselves. It's a very different kind of world that we're living in these days -- it's not like when you were just a little kid."  
   
It made sense.


	2. Chapter 2

Maddie wasn't the smallest of the group height wise, but she was the youngest, so Whiskey and Victor and Sierra had all agreed that she should be the one to get the backseat of the Impala to sleep in on nights when they stopped to rest. The others slept outside under the stars -- except for Whiskey, who never seemed to sleep, it seemed. Every night when Maddie woke up -- jerking away from some nightmare or other -- Whiskey was always nearby and awake, sitting on the hood of the Impala or leaning against a wall, smoking silently.  
   
One night, when Maddie couldn't bring herself to fall back to sleep, she crawled out of the backseat. Whiskey, sitting on the Impala's hood, hadn't turned when Maddie kicked open the door and scrambled out, stretching and stifling a yawn. Maddie went to go sit beside her. Whiskey had her lighter out and was casually flicking the flame on and off.  
   
"No smokes," Whiskey'd explained.  
   
"Ah," Maddie'd murmured in response and had climbed up next to Whiskey, digging around in her jeans' pockets until she managed to produce a single, rumpled-looking cigarette. She flourished it at Whiskey who took it and lit up, sucking in a long drag before passing it over.  
   
"You should be sleeping," Whiskey said, after a bit. "You need to keep rested."  
   
"Yeah? What about you?"  
   
"I'm fine."  
   
Maddie shook her head, exhaling. "I don't know how you fucking do it. If I were you I'd be so fucking exhausted at this point that I wouldn't care what happened to me." She shook her head again, grinning, as she handed the cigarette back over to Whiskey. "You know, it's been almost a month since we left Glen River. I almost can't fucking believe it. It really feels like years have gone by, doesn't it? Everything's changed."  
   
Whiskey made a sound of agreement.  
   
"It's just, you know, a year ago I would have never imagined that I'd be where I am right now, doing what I'm doing," she sat back on her palms, letting her legs dangle off the edge of Impala. "I would have never believed that I'd be on the run from fucking _zombies_ , fighting for my life. Least of all, I would have never believed that it'd be _you_ who rescued me. Christ, you fucking hated me."  
   
"I never hated you," Whiskey said, turning and fixing her with dark eyes.  
   
Maddie felt her face grow a bit hot. "Well, okay then -- we didn't get along, to put it nicely. As I recall, you beat me to a pulp -- twice."  
   
"And as _I_ recall," Whiskey said, tossing away the butt of the cigarette and taking a swig of bourbon, "you deserved it. Both times."  
   
"Yeah, well," Maddie rubbed the back of her neck. "Like I said."  
   
They sat in silence for a bit. Maddie spotted Victor and Sierra lying on the grass under a blanket, curled up together. She'd never seen them sleeping together before and she was surprised by the sweetness of it. Victor and Sierra usually treated her with cold disdain, if they even acknowledged her at all, but they looked different while asleep. Softer, almost. Peaceful. Maddie couldn't help but wonder what Whiskey looked like while asleep, if that same sort of odd transformation would happen to her as well.  
   
"You're a good kid, you know," Whiskey said, finally breaking the silence that had settled between them. "Fucking annoying and naive, but a good kid nonetheless. It's too bad you had to get caught up in all this."  
   
"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me, like, ever," Maddie remarked, after a moment, smiling. "For the record, I think you're all right yourself. I mean, you're definitely not as bad as people say you are."  
   
Whiskey sat forward. "Oh?"  
   
"Well, you did save my life, for one," Maddie told her. "And I think that in itself says something. Also, you didn't kill me that time I tried to jack your car, so I guess you've technically saved my life twice now."  
   
"Did I." Whiskey snorted.  
   
"You know, I only tried to steal your car because I wanted to impress you. Okay, well, maybe I didn't do it to _impress_ you exactly, but, well, I wanted you to know about me. Wanted you to think that I was good enough to play in the big leagues and all that -- I certainly thought I was. Of course, you caught me, so I suppose I was proved wrong."  
   
The corners of Whiskey's mouth turned up the slightest at that.  
   
When the wind picked up, Maddie found herself shivering. Whiskey glanced back inside the Impala. "I'm going to go for a walk," she said at last, pushing herself up into a standing position and, zipping up her jacket, shoved her hands inside her pockets. "You can sit out here, if you want, but I seriously suggest that you get some sleep when you can."  
   
"Yeah, okay," Maddie said. "Where are you going? Will you be back soon?"  
   
"Don't you worry about me, Maddie Costley," Whiskey said, turning away and fading away into the darkness of the night.  
 

;;  
 

If there had been one upside to the plagues, it had been that people finally started to get smart.  
   
As they rolled into Lansing, Maddie spotted a number of boarded up shop and houses, with a blue streak of paint running over the doorways; safe houses. They'd only encountered a few so far in the past month or so, but they seemed to be cropping up more and more, as people caught on. They weren't entirely safe, per se, but it was a place to rest, for a day or so, until it was time to move on again. People traded and sold weapons along with stories and medical help, if it was so needed.  
   
They were, Maddie thought, a way for people to stay connected, to try and remember that humanity was still out there, despite its constantly dwindling numbers.  
   
It was in front of once such place, in the center of town, across from an abandoned grocery store, where Whiskey parked the car and told them all they were stopping for the night. Maddie climbed out of the backseat, stretching with a groan, her muscles cramped and sore from sitting too long. Sierra kicked the car door behind her as she got out on the other side and jerked her head in the direction of the trunk.  
   
"Get the gray bag," she said. "It's the only stuff we need. And for Christ's sake, hurry the fuck up."  
   
Maddie did as she was told, slinging the bag over her shoulder and closing the hood with a heavy sigh before scurrying off after them, as they all followed Whiskey through the shop and up the back stairs. There was a man standing guard at the top, a sawed-off shotgun resting loosely on his shoulder. He and Whiskey exchanged words quietly and Maddie watched as Whiskey pressed a bill into his hand before he stepped aside; Victor nodded and passed through the heavy wooden door, Sierra right behind him.  
   
"Well, come on then," Whiskey said impatiently, turning to Maddie, who grabbed up the bag once more and trailed inside behind Whiskey.  
   
"We've got a bedroom off to the left," Whiskey told her, flicking her head briefly to the side. "Victor and Sierra will be sharing the bed; you'll get the floor."  
   
Maddie frowned, annoyed. "And where are you going to be?"  
   
"I'll be outside, doing shifts on guard duty," Whiskey said, popping open her lighter and taking a slow drag of her cigarette. "This room doesn't come fucking cheap, you know; someone has to earn our keep."  
   
Maddie nodded before heading off, somehow less disappointed now about having to sleep on the floor. She'd always assumed that Whiskey, being the leader, would leave the best parts for herself, but it seemed that quite the opposite was the case; Whiskey was the one who always got the short end of the stick, the one willing to make sacrifices so the others didn't have to.  
   
It would have been rather sweet, Maddie concluded, if it was anyone but Whiskey who did it.  
   
Waiting in line for the bathroom, two girls passed her in the hall, one with icy blue eyes and sharp blond hair, the other a bit shorter, with tear stained cheeks and hair bright red in color.  
   
The color of blood, Maddie thought, and suddenly she was reminded of three nights prior, when Victor caught someone trying to nick their car when they were parked outside a run-down shopping center in a town on the outskirts of Indiana. He had twisted the man's arms behind his back, as Sierra pushed him to the ground, forcing him to kneel in front of where Whiskey was standing, watching the whole thing play out with a look of interest.

"What are you going to do with him?" Maddie had asked, a bit worried when Whiskey'd pulled her knife out of her boot, toying with the edge of it, stepping closer to the struggling man.  
   
"I'm just going to teach him a lesson," Whiskey'd said, her tone flat, lifeless. "And you too. I'll show you both what happens to thieves."  
   
She'd slit the man's throat a second later, crouching in front of him and holding his neck with one hand, while she pressed her blade in and drew it slowly across his skin; Victor let go of his arms and Maddie watched the man fall to the ground, twitching slightly, bleeding out into the dirt. Whiskey'd straightened, wiped her knife on the front of her shirt, face expressionless.  
   
Her hands had been covered with blood. And when she'd gone to brush the hair out of her eyes, she'd left blood on her forehead, had gotten it in her hair as well. Maddie had almost been able taste it in her mouth, awful and copper-like, and for a moment she had been afraid she was going to be sick. But then, just as casually as all that, Whiskey'd tucked her knife back into its rightful place, wiped her hands off on her jeans and headed back to the car.  
   
Maddie felt sick now, remembering, and thought for a moment that she might swoon.  
   
The girls, holding hands now, went into a room a bit across the hall from where Maddie was standing. Maddie saw them sit on the floor by the window, huddled together. The girl with too-red hair was crying, holding what looked like a photograph. The blonde reached forward and took the girl's face in her hands, kissed her once on the forehead, then again, this time full on the mouth.  
   
It was a moment of sweetness Maddie hadn't seen in a long time.  
   
The line moved forward then and as Maddie stepped forward, her line of vision became obscured by the door and the girls disappeared. Which was just as well, Maddie thought to herself, picking at a scab on her wrist and watching the blood well up in the freshly opened cut.  
   
That sort of thing was not good. Not good at all.  
   
Safe houses had an unspoken set of guidelines, as Maddie had discovered. Dinner was served for an hour, usually from six to seven o'clock, and it ran on a first-come first-serve basis. Because of the food rations, those who came late sometimes ended up getting nothing at all, something Maddie had learned the hard way. She'd gone two days without eating after that, because Whiskey said they couldn't stop and they didn't have anything on them except canteens. But dinner at six was the general consensus, along with guests taking shifts for watch duty at night, and five minute or less minute long showers, to conserve on hot water. Beds were metered out to those who needed them most -- or who could pay or bargain their way for one -- and most of the time people ended up sleeping in chairs, if not on the floors.  
   
Maddie thought that perhaps the worst thing of all was that you got used to it.  
   
"Come on," Victor said, running into her as she came out of the bathroom wiping her wet hands on her jeans (no paper towels, those were reserved for emergencies). "Whiskey wants to talk to us."  
   
Maddie frowned. "About what?"  
   
"I didn't bother to ask," Victor said, leading the way down the hall to their bedroom. "Does it matter, anyway? We'll find out what's going on soon enough."  
   
Sierra was sprawled out lazily on the bed when they walked in. She eyed them for a moment before sitting up against the wall; Maddie and Victor climbed on to the bed beside her. Whiskey, by the window, dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it out with her boot. Maddie watched as the toe of Whiskey's show left an imprint in the dust and ash on the floor.  
   
Finally, Whiskey cleared her throat, crossing her arms in front of them. Maddie felt herself straighten up automatically, then felt ridiculous about it a moment later. Whiskey said, in a low, almost bored voice, "We're going to be staying here for the next week or so. I asked around some and it turns out that there's a big group of zombies near the lake area; a bunch of us are going to try and clear it out slowly, but the route's impassable at this point. So we've got no choice but to sit tight until then."  
   
"We can't go an alternate way?" Sierra asked, resting her chin on her knees. "Surely not all the roads are blocked off."  
   
"That way's the most direct," Whiskey said. "And it's more populated; we'll be able to stop if we have to. If we go the other way, we risk running out of gas -- not to mention food and water -- and then we'll be fucked."  
   
"So we'll stay here," Maddie said, stretching out. "So what? At least we're safe."  
   
Whiskey frowned. "Not entirely. I've been told that a gang's been spotted around this area recently."  
   
Victor and Sierra both straightened at that. "Which one?" Victor asked, suddenly attentive.  
   
"I'm not sure as of yet," Whiskey said, pulling out another cigarette and lighting up. She inhaled deeply and continued, "But I know one of the members goes by the alias Quebec. That name ring any bells?"  
   
"That's Yankee's group," Sierra supplied quickly, eyes narrowed. "I remember when Victor and I ran into a few of them back in '03. They're punks, the lot of them. Real low level guys; we can easily take them. Romeo was the only one of them that could handle a gun alright and from what I heard he's checked out. It'll be a fucking cakewalk. Yeah?" she asked, turning to Victor; he nodded.  
   
"They haven't got anyone who's any good. They're nothing to worry about."  
   
Maddie felt decidedly left out of the conversation.  
   
"Don't get cocky," Whiskey blew smoke rings up at the ceiling, folded her arms again. "The guy I was talking with here says that a new member just got initiated recently. Goes by the name Uniform. I don't know him."  
   
Victor and Sierra both shrugged.Victor said, "He must be new to the scene. I don't even know anyone who's gone by that name before."  
   
"Well, we'll keep our ears to the ground, won't we?" Whiskey said, looking pointedly at Maddie. "Especially you."  
   
 "What, why?" Maddie asked, confused.  
   
Whiskey rolled her eyes, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Maddie was the only one daft enough not to get it. "Because no one knows you, dumbass. You don't have a name and you haven't had a run-in with any other gangs except for this one right here. And no one knows that you're with us, so you're golden. People will run their mouths talking to you."  
   
Maddie shook her head violently. "Fuck off. I'm not going to be your fucking spy. This isn't a fucking game, alright? I have no idea what the hell's even going on -- I could get myself killed! For Christ's sake, they'll figure me out in two seconds. I mean, if we've heard about them, they've obviously heard about us, and who's to say that someone hasn't run down to tell them Whiskey's got herself a new ward."  
   
"Well, if you don't think you can _do_ it," Whiskey started, trying to bait her.  
   
"Come on, let up on her," Sierra pulled out a pack of Marlboros. "The kid's scared." She lit up. "And anyway, she probably couldn't do it even if she wanted to."  
   
"Sierra," Maddie said, working very hard to not lose her temper. "Shut the fuck up."  
   
Sierra gave her a mean grin and passed her cigarette over to Victor.  
   
"Look," Maddie said, scrambling off the bed and standing in front of Whiskey, staring her down. "I'm not going to be your fucking spy -- not exactly, anyway. I'll keep my eyes and ears open and I'll try and get people to talk, but that's as far as this goes, alright? And if you fucking push me on this, I swear to God I will search out that gang myself and rat them out to you personally."  
   
Whiskey examined her nails. "You wouldn't," she said calmly, completely nonchalant. "Because they'd kill you right afterwards."  
   
"I'm _serious_ ," Maddie said, gritting her teeth, resisting the urge to slug Whiskey and knock the smug look right off her face. "I've put up with all of your condescending attitudes thus far, but I'm sick and fucking tired of it. I can hold my own just as well as any of you and I don't want to be treated like your little plaything to just be tossed aside when the real baddies show up."  
   
"We get it already," Sierra said, with an exaggerated sigh of frustration. "You want respect, blah blah blah. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Costley, respect is earned. And frankly from what I've seen of you, you're nothing but a posh girl who likes to act all tough and punkish and shit because she thinks it makes her cool. You wouldn't even be here now if Whiskey hadn't saved your ass; you'd still be sitting in that fucking shithole of yours waiting to die. Face it: you're good for nothing."  
   
Maddie lunged forward, grabbing the front of her Sierra's t-shirt, her free hand balled into a fist in an inch away from Sierra's face. "You fucking take that back."  
   
Sierra blew smoke in her face; Maddie punched her.  
   
She felt Sierra's nose crack under her fist, felt the warm spray of blood against her skin. Saw the look of momentary shock in Sierra's eyes. And then Victor was on her in a second, grabbing Maddie and knocking her in the face so hard she saw stars while falling off the edge of the bed; she hit the floor with an audible _thud_ , tasting blood in her mouth.  
   
"Knock it _the fuck off_ ," Whiskey said, as Maddie struggled to sit up, the room spinning. "That's enough, got it? Jesus fucking Christ, you're all a bunch of goddamn children. You," she prodded Maddie in the ribs with her foot. "Go get cleaned up. As for you two, get the fuck up. We're going to do a sweep of the area."  
   
"I can help too," Maddie said gamely, managing to get herself up on her feet, feeling woozy.  
   
"No, you're going to stay here," Whiskey said, in a tone that meant she was not to be argued with. "You've caused enough trouble for one day."  
   
Maddie watched her leave, moved passively out of the way as Victor and Sierra brushed past her following Whiskey out the door. Victor glared at her; Sierra mouthed something that may have been a "fuck you." Maddie was pleased to see she'd landed a rather decent punch. Sierra's eye was already swelling up some and blood was dripping out of her nose, which looked bent of out shape.  
   
It wasn't until she'd heard them go down the stairs that she collapsed to the floor with a sigh, face in her hands, her head throbbing something awful.

   
;;

   
She cleaned herself up in the bathroom, wincing when she touched her left eye, which already looked grossly black and blue, her eye nearly swollen shut. Her lip had stopped bleeding but it still hurt like hell, along with her head. She thought about going downstairs to look for medication -- or maybe to find someone who she could pawn it off of -- but she felt too weary to make the effort and instead shuffled back to the bedroom where she flopped down on the bed, suddenly exhausted even though it was only midday.  
   
She must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing Maddie knew was that she was being rather rudely prodded in the side. She mumbled a "go away," and turned on her side without opening her eyes to see who it was.  
   
"Get up," Sierra said and Maddie sighed heavily and sat up. Sleeping had only improved her headache; her eye was still throbbing and sore and she could barely see out of it, the whole of it almost swelled entirely shut. She stretched her arms up over her head with a groan, her limbs stiff from falling asleep in such an awkward position. Maddie looked up at Sierra.

"What do you want?"  
   
"Did you not hear the dinner bell sounding? Get downstairs and get yourself something to eat."  
   
"Since when have you cared about my well-being?" Maddie grumbled, still groggy.  
   
"Since you're to be helping Whiskey with watch duty tonight," Sierra said, with an eyeroll. "If you're hungry, you'll be too busy worrying about that and not thinking about how you should be paying attention. And that sort of thing isn't any good. So get yourself down there and hope that they haven't rationed out all the food already."  
   
Maddie sighed again, pushed herself up to her feet. "Alright, alright. I'm going."  
   
She passed Victor on the staircase and instinctively gave him a wide berth, eyeing him cautiously. It wasn't that she was scared, it's that she knew he had a bit of a temper (but then again, which one of Whiskey's crew _didn't_ ) and she was only up for one beating today.  
   
Whiskey was in the kitchen. "Good," she said, when she spotted Maddie. "Sierra sent you down."  
   
"Really nice of her, wasn't it," Maddie said sarcastically and grabbed herself a bowl of rice and a bottle of water. She sat down on the floor next to the sink, leaning against the wall and resting the bowl on her lap. She gulped down half her water in one go, her mouth terribly dry.  
   
"We could have left you and let you go without," Whiskey told her plainly, leaning against the counter across the room.  
   
Maddie admitted that that was maybe true, and so she kept her mouth shut.  
   
After some time, Whiskey said, "I'm going upstairs. I want to rest up a bit before guard duty tonight. You stay down here; Victor's still worked up from earlier and I don't want anything to start up."  
   
Maddie opened her mouth to protest, but Whiskey shook her head and gave her a stern look.  
   
"We'll meet on the roof in three hours, got it? Up in the attic there's a balcony we can sit on. Gives us a better view of the area than anywhere else in the house." She turned to leave.  
   
"Oh, hey," Maddie said through a mouthful of rice. "I meant to ask -- how did the sweep go? Did you have a run in with the gang?"  
   
Whiskey toyed with the holster on her belt. "No such luck. But they're still living nearby; we know that much. I suppose it's only a matter of time before we're going to have to face them. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now I'm just concerned about taking care of that blockage up north. It won't be easy."  
   
"I'll come with you," Maddie volunteered enthusiastically.  
   
"It's not a game." Whiskey licked her thumb and cleaned off a spot on the arm of her jacket, scrubbing at it lazily.  
   
"I know. I want to help."  
   
"We'll see. Just be up there tonight by nine."  
   
Maddie watched her go and then turned back to her food, secretly pleased by the fact that Whiskey'd cared enough to have Sierra wake her up, because she wasn't sure if she could have gone another day without eating. Even after she'd finished she still felt hungry, but that was a feeling that was getting easier and easier to ignore with every day; they weren't close to starving -- not yet -- but with food being rationed so much nowadays, they often went without eating when they could manage it -- and only eating the bare minimum when they had to.  
   
It was almost relieving, in that sense, that they were going to be staying at the safe house for however long; at least they'd be guaranteed a meal. Once finished, she wandered off to find the attic, deciding that she may as well sit up there until it was time for watch duty, seeing as she didn't have anything else better to do. She got into a coughing fit once she was up there; the whole place was covered in an inch of dust.  
   
She wrote her name in the dust in one corner: _Madeline Costley_ ; it looked so strange to her, suddenly, as if it wasn't her name at all, just one she was borrowing for the time being.  
   
Whiskey joined her on the roof at ten o'clock on the dime; Maddie heard her arrive, but didn't turn, sitting on the edge of the balcony with her legs dangling off, looking up at the sky. Whiskey didn't say anything and Maddie didn't feel the need to start up any sort of conversation. She'd gotten used to Whiskey's silences and found that she almost liked them, at times.  
   
Oddly enough, Whiskey was the first one to break the silence.  
   
"What're you doing?"  
   
"Nothing," Maddie told her. "I'm just looking up at the stars. When I used to live back home, you know, back in Los Angeles when I was younger, I could never see them, because of the pollution or smog or whatever. But here, where the air's clean, you can see everything at night."  
   
"It's nice," Whiskey agreed.  
   
Maddie said, "Look, see? Those three stars all in a line -- that's Orion's belt. And if you pull back some, I mean, in terms of where you're looking, you can see Orion himself. It's got the star Bellatrix in it; that's how I always remembered where to find it."  
   
"You know," Whiskey said after a few moments, sitting down next to Maddie on the roof. "That was a stupid thing you did today. Victor could -- probably _would_ \-- have killed you, if I'd let him. Or rather, if I hadn't stopped him. Either way; don't do it again, what you did today, provoking them like that. Even without him you're no match for Sierra; she may look small, but she's been through a lot and she knows what to do, especially with a little kid like you."  
   
"I'm not a kid," Maddie said, through gritted teeth.  
   
"Fine, you're not," Whiskey said, completely insincerely. "But my point is: you need to be careful. You can't keep your mouth shut, can you? Honestly, sometimes I'm not sure if you're really that stupid or if you just _like_ to have the crap beat out of you on a regular basis. Sometimes I think it's both."  
   
Maddie gingerly touched her eye, felt the swollen skin beneath her fingertips. She flinched. Whiskey sighed.  
   
"Why?" Maddie asked, after several long moments of silence. "Why did you choose to save _me_? We didn't even know each other -- we _still_ don't know each other."  
   
Whiskey was quiet for a bit. "I don't know," she said finally, un-tucking her legs and stretching them out in front of her. "I've actually asked myself the same question quite a few times since we've left Glen River. Consider it a moment of weakness."She put a hand on Maddie's shoulder, flashed Maddie something that almost resembled a smile. "You sort of remind me of myself, back when I was younger, cliché as that sounds. But I was young and stupid once too; I've even got the scars to show for it." She laughed; it sounded forced.  
   
"Sierra _was_ right though," Maddie said glumly, staring down at her hands. "I am good for nothing."  
   
"We all have our uses," Whiskey shrugged, dug her little silver canteen out of her leather jacket and unscrewing the cap, took a long gulp of whiskey. She offered the canteen to Maddie who grimaced and shook her head, remembering the awful taste from before. "It's just a matter of figuring out yours, is all."  
   
"And what if I don't have one?" Maddie stared out into the darkness. "What then?"  
   
"What then indeed, Maddie Costley," Whiskey murmured, taking another swallow of alcohol. "What then indeed."

   
;;

   
The week passed slowly.  
   
Days were mostly spent lounging about doing nothing, since Whiskey didn't allow her to come out with them when they patrolled the area, looking for a sign of the gang that was supposedly squatting somewhere nearby, or when they took the Impala up the highway and went to task disposing of the zombie clusterfuck that was backing everything up. Maddie had argued that actually, yes, she was quite capable of taking care of herself, but that hadn't mattered to Whiskey -- Maddie suspected that her informal house arrest was also due to the fact that Victor and Sierra were still sore over their last physical altercation and Whiskey didn't want anything to happen when they were out supposed to be getting things done.  
   
Maddie spent most of her days sitting in the hallway or in the living room downstairs, watching people come and go. Observing others was something she'd always been particularly keen about and this provided the perfect environment. She'd watched as the girl with shocking red hair pulled the blond, laughing, down the hall, knitting their fingers together and standing up on tiptoe for a kiss; watched as a man with long, greasy brown hair and pale skin patched up his jacket, sewing mis-matched pieces of cloth over the holes.  
   
On Thursday, she'd seen two men, one with clear, sharp eyes, and the other looking patently annoyed and carrying a medical bag, and she'd contemplated trying to nick the bag, just to see what was inside. In the end, she decided against it, because it didn't seem right to create issues in a place that Whiskey'd worked so hard to get them a good room in. (She'd flinched, anyway, when the man had retrieved a rather large syringe from the bag and held it up to the light, examining it.)  
   
At night, Maddie was on guard for first shift. She didn't know how she'd ended up with the job, but Whiskey, who inevitably joined her every night, said that Maddie'd just been the one tagged on at the end, like a sidekick. Whiskey was really the one keeping watch; she was just more subtle about it. Sometimes they talked -- idle chitchat initiated by Maddie that never lasted more than a few minutes at a time before dissolving into nothing -- but most of the time they sat in silence, passing matches and smokes back and forth between themselves until one o'clock rolled around and someone would come to relieve them.  
   
Saturday night, when they were sitting up on the balcony and Whiskey was putting her Colt back together, she said, "We're going to be staying on another week. Maybe two."  
   
"What, here?" Maddie was surprised. "Why?"  
   
Whiskey shrugged. "There are things that need to be done still. We haven't finished with the lot of zombies, which is our primary concern, and I hate leaving tasks uncompleted. Also, Victor found out some information about the gang that's around these parts which could prove to be useful."  
   
"What is it?"  
   
"Nothing that concerns you, kid," Whiskey slid her pistol back into the holster on her side.  
   
Maddie sighed. "Alright then."  
   
They hadn't spoken the rest of the evening, and when a man came later to replace them on guard duty, Whiskey stayed on, staring out into the blackness of night. Maddie slipped into her makeshift bed on the floor -- nothing but a few pillows and blankets that she'd scavenged from other rooms or from the attic -- and thought about having to stay here indefinitely, and how if she wasn't allowed to go out sometime soon she may just start to go a bit crazy.  
   
The thought of that made her think of turning into Whiskey, and she didn't like the implications one bit.

   
;;

   
It'd been another week before finally Whiskey nudged her awake with her boot one morning and told her that they were going out. Maddie'd been so pleased and surprised that she'd jumped up and started getting dressed without even bothering to ask where they were headed. She'd followed Whiskey downstairs and out the front door, where Victor was leaning against the Impala, hands in his pockets, waiting for them.  
   
"Where's Sierra?" Maddie asked, climbing into the backseat.  
   
"Out on an assignment." Whiskey turned the car on, gunning the engine. She popped the brake and the car sprung forward, quickly picking up speed as they pulled onto the main road headed for the highway.  
   
Maddie watched as the scenery flew by, tried to figure out where they were going. She would have asked, if she thought Whiskey would tell her. Instead, she just kept note as they passed exit twenty-seven and kept her mouth shut, sitting in the backseat with her hands folded docilely in her lap. Sometimes, she knew, it was just best to let things play out, and if Whiskey wasn't going to tell her where it was they were headed to, there was probably a good reason as to why. But just as she was thinking this, Whiskey pulled off a left-hand exit and began to talk, catching Maddie's eyes in the rearview mirror.  
   
"This is your chance to do something."  
   
"What am I doing?"  
   
Whiskey's grin was wolfish. "You're going to be doing what you do best; you're going to be stealing something."  
   
Maddie was intrigued now. "Why? What am I meant to be jacking?"  
   
"We," Whiskey's eyes flicked over briefly towards Victor, "found the place where Yankee and the others are staying. It's an old warehouse in the middle of goddamn nowhere. It's perfect, really, the location, because we can't just sneak up on them without them noticing us. There's no fucking cover at all. Which is where you come in."  
   
"Oh?"  
   
"A car," Whiskey explained, turning off the main road and letting the car idle on a side street. "Yankee's group has only got one -- it's a '70 Chevy. Real sweet thing, custom paint and all that shit. And it's their only method of transportation for miles around, which is why you're going to steal it."  
   
Maddie grinned. "Can I keep it? You know, after I've stolen it?"  
   
"Absolutely not. You're just taking it for a joyride and then dumping it somewhere far away."  
   
"Well, that's no fun," Maddie groaned, pretending to pout in the backseat. "What's going to make this worthwhile?"  
   
"The satisfaction of a job well done," Victor turned around in his seat. "We brought you here because we thought you could do it. You're the one who knows her way around cars and we've seen first hand that you're probably the best thief in our little group. But if you don't want to do it -- "  
   
"Hey now," Maddie sat forward quickly, cocking an eyebrow. "I never said I didn't want to do it."  
   
Whiskey opened her door, stepped out. "Well, go on then already," she said. "We haven't got all fucking day."  
   
Maddie scrambled out the backseat and with a quick point from Whiskey as to the direction of where the Chevy was parked, she was off. The deal was Whiskey and Victor would wait around until they heard the sound of the car starting, and then they'd take off, with Maddie behind them. They wouldn't have to worry about getting chased down by Yankee and the others, and for the first time ever Maddie was grateful for the gasoline shortage.  
   
The car was right where Whiskey said it was, and just as pretty.  
   
She whistled lowly as she sidled up to her, giving it the once over. It'd been restored, obviously. No car from the twentieth century could have come out looking this good without a few touch-ups.  
   
She got out her pocketknife and flipped open to the smallest, flattest blade she could find, bending down to examine the lock on the driver's side. One thing that she prided herself on was her ability to get into locked cars in the first place; she always picked the locks, never broke through windows. She liked to think it gave what she was doing a touch of class, and smirked at the thought, just as the lock popped up.  
   
Hot-wiring a car was easy, especially when it was an older car, because the electrical system had a much simpler set-up design than ones made in the late twentieth century and all. After a few moments of fiddling with the wires, there was a small spark and the engine sprang to life.  
   
"Jackpot," Maddie murmured to herself with a satisfied smirk, and sat up in the seat, slamming the door behind her and popping the clutch into first gear, stomping on the gas pedal. The car surged forward and Maddie found herself laughing, especially when the car sped past Whiskey and Victor in the Impala, just now pulling out of the alley where they'd been parked.  
   
The joyride was short-lived, but it felt nice to be able to be behind the steering wheel; it seemed like forever since Maddie'd driven a car. When eventually Whiskey pulled off the highway and moved onto some back roads, Maddie knew that her fun time was up. They ended up leaving the car in an underground parking garage, bottom floor. Whiskey assured them that it was far enough out of the way that Yankee's gang wouldn't even be able to get far enough to find it.  
   
"We could've just torched it, you know," Maddie told her as they walked back to the Impala, taking out a cigarette.  
   
"This was more fun," Whiskey looked over expectantly; Maddie handed off a cigarette. "Those fuckers are absolutely going to be shitting themselves when they realize what we've done. They're not going to be able to get anywhere now; they're just going to have to sit there until they run out of food and water and are forced to move. And they won't get far."  
   
"It's like slow torture, almost," Maddie commented. "Or a slow execution, I guess you could say."  
   
Whiskey made a sound of agreement, pulling open the driver side door to the Impala. "You could say that."  
   
The drive back to the safe house was quiet but pleasant. Maddie couldn't help but feel rather pleased at herself for what she'd accomplished that day, and thought that maybe now Sierra and Victor would back the fuck off her for a bit, having proved herself. Even Whiskey seemed to be in a good mood, flashing Maddie the slightest of grins when Maddie caught her eye in the rearview mirror.  
   
Sierra was sitting on her bed when they got back, cleaning her gun.  
   
"It's about fucking time," she said, looking up when they came into the room. "I thought maybe something happened."  
   
"We just had a bit of fun," Whiskey said. "What's up?"  
   
Sierra put her gun down. "So it went off without a hitch then?"  
   
"Maddie got us the car, yes. We left it in a lot somewhere miles and miles away. They won't even be able to get to it, let alone think about where it may be. Without it they're totally defenseless. It was a job well done." She glanced over at Maddie. "We played a very good hand."

"Yeah, well, I've got the ace," Sierra said, with a triumphant grin, and it seemed like she was almost bursting at the seams to finally talk about it. "Because I know who Yankee's working for."  
   
"Come on then," Whiskey said with a frown. "Stop gloating and just fucking tell us."  
   
"Alpha. Yankee's working for Alpha."  
   
Victor shook his head violently. "That's not possible. Alpha's in Los Angeles; he doesn't come around these parts, never has. And any sort of communicative technology's been down for a good year or so now, ever since the zombie outbreak. So how the fuck are they communicating with each other? Goddamn smoke signals?"  
   
Sierra's grin faded some. "Alpha must have figured something out -- he could have built a fucking power grid for himself and Yankee as far as I know. But they've been talking, I know that."  
   
"How?" Whiskey raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"  
   
"Because," Sierra said, and once again looked annoyingly pleased with herself. "I've got Yankee's phone." She took it out of her back pocket, flaunting it for everyone to see. She tossed it over to Whiskey, who caught it with one hand and flipped it open. "Take a look at who's been calling -- someone named CWC. Now, I didn't get it at first, but then I remembered that tattoo Alpha had on the inside of his wrist. It was three letters -- CWC. I don't know what they mean, but -- "  
   
"It's his name," Whiskey said simply, closing up the phone and setting it on the table. She looked up at Sierra. "Well done. I have to say, it's more than I expected."  
   
Sierra waved a hand dismissively. "I'm lucky I got it. I had to surprise the little fucker while he was in the john -- it was the only time I could get him alone. He didn't even see me coming; just one pistol butt to his head and he crumpled. I expected him to put up a bit more of a fight, but like I've told you before -- him and his gang are all punks with no real power."  
   
Whiskey was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe you're right."  
   
It didn't exactly sound like a ringing endorsement.

   
;;

   
"I keep ending up on guard duty with you," Maddie teased, as Whiskey sat down on the balcony beside her, pulling out her usual cigarette. "If I didn't know better, I'd think maybe you actually enjoyed spending time with me."  
   
Whiskey made a _pft_ sound, rolling her eyes as she flipped open her lighter, cupping her hand around the flame to shield it from the strong night wind. She stuffed her lighter away as soon as she was done, took her gun out her holster and began taking it apart. Maddie watched her for a bit.  
   
"What are you doing?"  
   
A shrug. "I'm bored."  
   
"We could . . . talk." A hard glare in return told Maddie that it probably wasn't even worth suggesting. She sighed and threw her arms up on the railing, leaning on them heavily for support. The smoke from Whiskey's cigarette drifted up towards the sky in wispy circles; Maddie listened to the clinking sounds of Whiskey dismantling her Colt, turned her head just to the side and watched as Whiskey rubbed her shirt on the pieces, cleaning and polishing them until they shone.  
   
Finally Whiskey was finished; she began putting the gun back together.  
   
"Impressive," Maddie said after a minute, when Whiskey spun and clicked the chamber back into place.  
   
Another shrug from Whiskey. "It's a useful skill -- though not quite as useful as you'd think." She gave her Colt the once-over before tucking it back away. "It's a slow night. I'm going to get us something -- yeah? Keep watch for me. I'll be back in a moment."  
   
"Yeah, alright," Maddie said, resting her head on her crossed arms, as Whiskey stood, brushed herself off. Her boots made heavy clomping sounds on the floor when she walked; Maddie imagined dust falling through the cracks in the attic's floorboards with every footstep.  
   
"Here," Whiskey said, a few moments later, and handed her a bottle of Michelob before sliding back down into the empty space beside her.  
   
Maddie stared at it. "What the fuck? Where the hell did you get this?"  
   
"Lifted it from a store last week," Whiskey said, opening her bottle and chugging half of it down in one gulp. I was keeping it in the trunk under some of the blankets -- thought maybe I'd save it for something nice. But I don't think that's going to happen any time soon, so this will just have to do."  
   
"Well, a-fucking-men to that," Maddie said, uncapping her beer and tilting it at Whiskey in a half-hearted 'cheers' motion. "Did you grab the whole six-pack or only just a couple of bottles?"  
   
Whiskey lifted the carton on the other side of her. "The whole thing, of course. I never do things half-way."  
   
"'Course you don't." Maddie took a long swallow; the beer was warm, but what the fuck. It was the first real drink she'd had since God knew when, and she knew well enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She took another sip and wiped her mouth on the back of her hands.  
   
They drank in silence for a bit.  
   
At last Maddie said, with a satisfied grin, "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually really happy I met you."  
   
"Yeah," Whiskey seemed surprised at her own words. "I am too. But don't get the wrong idea and think that means I actually _like_ you," she said, in a level tone that was just below being teasing.  
   
"Yeah, sure," Maddie told her. "I don't like you either. I was just being nice to you on account of the beer and all. Don't mistake it for anything else."  
   
Whiskey's tone didn't change, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards just slightly. "I didn't."  
   
"Good." Maddie leaned back, stretching, took another sip of beer.  
   
They lapsed into silence once more.  
   
"Do you want to talk?" Maddie asked, toying with the neck of her beer bottle, sliding her finger up and down the curve of it.  
   
A pause, a swallow of booze. "Not particularly."  
   
Maddie picked at the bottle's label. "I think Sierra's wrong. About Yankee and them, I mean. Okay, maybe by themselves they aren't anything special, but then why is Alpha even communicating with them? It doesn't make sense."  
   
"Of course it doesn't," Whiskey sighed. "But Sierra's also right -- they can't hurt us. Yet, anyway. Alpha's in Los Angeles and even if he did think we were a threat or anything like that, he wouldn't even consider running out here. He'd make us come to him. That's how he works; he makes you think you've got the upper hand and then it's too late, once he's got you where he wants you."  
   
"He sounds -- " well, Maddie wasn't quite sure of what he sounded like, because she didn't really know anything about him, just that Whiskey fucking hated him and he was fairly clever.  
   
"Don't worry about him too much," Whiskey said with a dismissive hand wave, suddenly annoyed. "He's not even what we should be thinking about right now. We should be focusing on finishing up what we've still got left to do here first."  
   
"Right." Maddie shrugged.  
   
They were quiet for a bit longer after that, until Maddie grew bored of sitting out and staring at the dark fields surrounding them.  
   
"You know," she said, at length, shifting and tucking her legs under herself, "when I was younger -- I mean like, sixteen, back before all of this happened, I had this friend. We were best friends, you know? We'd known each other since second grade, we lived a block apart, we did everything together, blah blah blah. Anyway, it was the end of May, and we were gearing up for our final exams and I'm sitting in the library studying, and I get this call. And I see it's Julia's home phone number and I'm thinking to myself, why is she calling me from there, she always calls me from her cell. So I pick up the phone and her mom's on the other line. And there's just this dead silence, right, because I _know_ that something must be wrong because Julia's mom never calls unless something has happened."  
   
Whiskey uncapped another bottle of Michelob, took a swig of it, passed it over to Maddie.  
   
Maddie takes a swallow and then continues. "So of course, _I'm_ not saying anything, so there's just this _silence_ , it feels like it goes on forever. It's just awful and I'm about to open my mouth and say something, and then Julia's mom just says 'She's dead.' Just like that. Flat and monotone and straight to the point, though I guess it's the only way you can say that sort of thing." She takes another gulp of beer, wipes her mouth on her sleeve. "That was the final straw for me. I mean, my parents had died, my sister had taken off, and it was all really shitty, but I was coping. I could deal with all that. But when Julia died, it was just like everything fell apart. After the funeral, I just left. Just packed up and left and didn't give a fuck about where I was going and what happened to me."  
   
A pause, and then Whiskey said, popping open her lighter, "That sucks."  
   
Maddie laughed. "It's funny, but that's really the only thing you _can_ say about something like that, right? Just, well, that sucks."  
   
"Someone close to me died too," Whiskey said suddenly, tapping the end of her cigarette.  
   
"Yeah?" Maddie finished off the beer, chucked the bottle off into the distance. "Who?"  
   
Whiskey shook her head. "Doesn't matter. But I did what you did: I ran off. I ran off and it was basically me against the fucking world, as far as I was concerned. That's how Alpha found me, actually; I was trying to lift something from a shop -- nothing he was after, mind, but he'd been out that night and it was just a goddamn perfect coincidence -- and he was impressed. And when he found out I was almost a doctor -- "  
   
"Wait, hang on," Maddie interrupted, holding up her hands to stop her. "You were a doctor?"  
   
" _Almost_ a doctor," Whiskey said impatiently, with a bit of a _tch_ sound. "I was almost done with med school when I took off. But that's not important; it was a long time ago."  
   
Maddie whistled lowly. "I can't fucking believe it. You? Really? Christ."  
   
Whiskey stubbed out her smoke. "Is it really so hard to believe?"  
   
Maddie shrugged. There was an ant crawling on the tip of her shoe. She watched it crawl up to the laces before curling up a finger and flicking it away. Whiskey yawned, cracked her knuckles; Maddie found herself staring at Whiskey's hands, her long, slender fingers, the tiny white marks here and there where there had been cuts that had scarred over. She thought about those hands being covered in blood.  
   
"I don't like it when you do that," Whiskey broke the silence first.  
   
"Do what?"  
   
"You do this thing where you get to thinking and you sort of pull back into yourself." Whiskey frowned, scratching at her wrist. "I don't like it. It doesn't suit."  
   
Maddie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "What _does_ suit me, then?"  
   
"Being loud and annoying as fuck," Whiskey said, with an irritating grin. "It's strange, actually, but even though half the time I'm wishing you would just shut the hell up and give me some peace -- you know, let me _think_ \-- but then you get all weird and quiet on me and I don't like that at all. You're very strange, you know. You're a conundrum."  
   
"Big words," Maddie sneered, a bit hurt.  
   
Whiskey laughed again and tousled her hair; Maddie pushed her hand away -- it didn't wipe the smirk off Whiskey's face.  
   
"Well, I wouldn't have to talk so much if you weren't so damn quiet and mysterious all the time," Maddie told her sulkily, shoving her hands into her pockets, toying with her lighter. "I think that's _more_ irritating; never speaking when you should, always keeping everything to yourself. So really, if I'm annoying, it's entirely your fault."  
   
With a sigh, Whiskey lay back on the floor, stretching out with a slight smile. "You know, despite my best intentions, it seems that I rather like you," she remarked, eyes closed, arms folded behind her head. The wind had picked up some and with the sundown it'd gotten colder, but Whiskey didn't seem to mind, her jacket lying discarded a few feet away. Maddie still sitting next to her, watched as a breeze came along, un-tucking a few strands of hair from her ponytail, goose bumps rising on her forearms in response to the chill. Whiskey's skin looked paler than usual in the bright moonlight; soft, too, and Maddie's fingers itched from wanting to run up and down the length of Whiskey's arm to feel that skin beneath her hands.  
   
Maddie looked away quickly, blushing furiously, when after a moment or two Whiskey opened her eyes and stared at her.  
   
"What is it?" Whiskey asked, as Maddie pretended to be very interested in the cuff of her jeans.  
   
"Nothing," Maddie replied quickly, face still hot. Then, because she couldn't help herself, she said, "It's just -- you know, you're very pretty. I mean, not that I thought you were ugly or something before -- of course not -- but well, I just sort of noticed now."  
   
Whiskey sat up, chuckling. "At the risk of being called out on going soft, I have to say that you're almost endearing when you're all flustered like this. It's cute. It reminds me of when I was young."  
   
It didn't help; Maddie only blushed brighter. Of course, what Whiskey said next didn't make things much better, either.  
   
"Do you want to kiss me, Maddie Costley?" Whiskey asked, as nonchalant as if she was commenting on the weather.  
   
Maddie stared at her, startled. "What? No!"  
   
It was the truth -- well, part of it, anyway. She hadn't wanted to kiss Whiskey before (at least, she didn't _think_ she'd been wanting to kiss her), but now that Whiskey had fucking brought it up, it was all she could think about. She silently cursed Whiskey for saying such a thing, all the while thinking about what a kiss would actually be like. Would she taste like bourbon? Logically, Maddie thought, she would, since it seemed to be the only thing she ever drank, but the thought still made her grin stupidly, amused at herself.  
   
"I think you do," Whiskey continued, sounding very pleased with herself. "It's okay, I mean, if you want to. Lots of people want to kiss me. _Have_ wanted to kiss me. Have _kissed_ me. Boys and girls alike." She grinned at Maddie. "Don't you think I'm a bit old for you, though?"  
   
"You're not that old," Maddie told her and only a moment later realized she'd just admitted the very thing she'd been denying. "I mean," she went on, blushing once again, but not caring this time, "you're only what, twenty-nine years old?"  
   
"Thirty-two," Whiskey corrected her, her grin widening. "But thank you."  
   
"Okay, so you're thirty-two," Maddie said, feeling a bit foolish. "So what? I'm turning twenty-two in a month. You'll only be ten years older than me. So that only puts you ten years ahead of me; that's not much at all, is it. Unless," she added, after a moment, with a sinking feeling, "the truth of it is that you just don't feel the same. Which is okay, I guess, I mean, I thought maybe, well -- "  
   
Whiskey rolled her eyes. "You don't ever shut up, do you?" she said, cutting Maddie off mid-sentence. "You apparently don't fucking listen much either, because I never once said that I didn't want this. I want this. I want _you_ , Maddie Costley, even if you can't keep quiet for more than five fucking minutes and push my very last nerve to the very fucking limit all the goddamn time. Now, do you get me? Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"  
   
Dumbfounded, Maddie could only nod silently.  
   
"Good," Whiskey said, and reached forward, knitting her fingers into Maddie's shirt and tugging her in, not at all gracefully. "Now, finish what you started and fucking kiss me already, you idiot."

   
;;

   
It was strange, Maddie thought, as she lay in bed staring at Whiskey's back, still half-asleep and not wanting to get up yet. She couldn't remember the first time she'd felt anything this strong for anyone else, and the idea that Whiskey felt the same -- or at least, very _similarly_ \-- about her was almost ridiculous.  
   
They'd spent the evening kissing; Whiskey was surprisingly gentle when it came to kisses -- gentle and sweet and _patient_ , actually, which Maddie was incredibly relieved to discover, because she hadn't exactly had much practice when it came to kissing, especially when it came to kissing _girls_. But it had worked out all right and Whiskey was nice and she couldn't remember when exactly she fell asleep, could only remember Whiskey pulling her in close, smelling of soap and cigarette smoke.  
   
She reached out, stroked Whiskey's hair. Whiskey mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over so that they were now face to face. Maddie hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed her lips lightly against Whiskey's own. Whiskey immediately opened her eyes; Maddie pulled back quickly, startled.  
   
"Hello," she said, her mouth dry, and Whiskey's face relaxed into a smile.  
   
"I'll have to get used to that," she said, sitting up some. "Waking up next to someone, I mean. That hasn't happened in -- well, not for a long fucking time, that's for sure." She yawned, stretching her arms up over her head, before pulling Maddie in for a quick kiss.  
   
(Maddie was amazed, once again, how unguarded Whiskey could seem at times, and it made her wonder about who Whiskey was _before_ all this, when she wasn't Whiskey at all; Claire Saunders was another lifetime.)  
   
"I still have to get used to _you_ ," Maddie said, twirling a strand of Whiskey's hair between her fingers. "I never would have thought that -- well, this isn't how I imagined things turning out, you know?"  
   
"Yeah," Whiskey said, sounding a little distracted. "Come on." She climbed out of bed, grabbing Maddie's hand and pulling her up as well. "Let's go shower."  
   
Maddie hesitated, flushed, let go of Whiskey's hand.  
   
Whiskey turned around and giving her a curious look, before laughing. "You're not embarrassed, are you?"  
   
" _No_ ," Maddie said forcefully, lying completely unconvincingly.  
   
"You _are_ ," Whiskey's grin grew even wider.  
   
"I'm not _embarrassed_ ," Maddie told her. "It's just well, don't you think it's a bit soon for us to be seeing each other naked? Let alone showering together."  
   
Whiskey stared at her for a full minute before bursting out into laughter. "Oh, you're full of surprises, aren't you? I wouldn't have thought that a girl like you would be so modest."  
   
Maddie wanted to ask what kind of girl Whiskey meant, but a second later Whiskey shrugged and, with a smile and a, "Suit yourself, then," headed into the bathroom, kicking the door loudly behind her. Maddie sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the sound of Whiskey turning on the shower, the water hitting the porcelain tub, thought about maybe going in there and joining Whiskey after all, just because she could, and not because she didn't want Whiskey to think she was some kind of prude or anything. But then before she knew it the door was being opened again and Whiskey stepped back into the bedroom.  
   
She had a raggedy looking towel wrapped around her, just barely big enough to cover everything that needed to be covered. Her dark hair was dripping wet, clinging to her face and shoulders; Whiskey combed it back with her fingers clumsily, pushing it back away from her face. She padded over to where Maddie was sitting, leaving wet footprints on the wooden floor.  
   
"Shower's open," Whiskey said, and sat down next to Maddie.  
   
"Yeah, okay," Maddie mumbled, blushing and staring straight ahead, trying not to think about Whiskey sitting next to her in nothing but a scant towel, skin damp and flushed from the water. "Yeah, so I should probably go shower then, shouldn't I."  
   
Whiskey's grin followed her all the way to the bathroom.

   
;;

   
Most nights were spent with Whiskey then, even when they didn't have to be on guard duty or didn't even have to be in the same room together. Maddie assumed this was the only logical progression, after two weeks when they'd spent the whole night kissing, but with Whiskey, one never really knew what her definition of logical or normal really was. They'd hadn't done much, either, in terms of romance -- occasionally it would get to be too much and Maddie couldn't stand to _not_ touch Whiskey and would tug her in by her shirt and kiss her fiercely. Whiskey, on the other hand, was more reserved with her affection -- usually.  
   
There'd been one instance, three nights ago, where Whiskey'd grabbed her and pressed her up against the wall, kissing her until they were both breathless. It'd been a rough, needy kiss, and when Whiskey'd pulled away, Maddie had tasted blood on her tongue. Whiskey'd smiled and gently wiped the blood away from Maddie's lip with her thumb, before leaning in and softly kissing the side of Maddie's mouth, but it only reiterated the fact that Whiskey was wild, that beneath the placid surface an intensity bubbled that was almost scary.  
   
Once or twice Whiskey slipped into bed with her, in the early hours of morning, when Victor or Sierra'd woken up and replaced her on guard duty -- Maddie was never allowed to keep guard for them by herself; Whiskey didn't think she was capable of it and anyway, Whiskey had said, it was too dangerous, she wasn't experienced enough in combat -- and the morning sun was beginning to creep through the windows. Occasionally, too, if they were in a place that had a bed, if Maddie had seen that Whiskey'd drifted off to sleep in the middle of the day, she'd climb into bed and curl up next to her.  
   
It wasn't as if she was anxious for affection -- she was realistic, knew Whiskey would rarely show her more than the bare minimum -- but the distance between them, more emotional than physical, was beginning to take a strain on her. At times she thought maybe Whiskey'd just been trying to be nice, but then she remembered the copper, heavy taste of blood in her mouth and knew it was only a matter of time. Eventually Whiskey would get over whatever it was that was bothering her and things could progress.  
   
On a warm Thursday night, some three weeks later, she snuck off while Whiskey was helping out trying to light the wood stove on fire and stole herself a couple of bottles of Michelob from the backseat of the car, what was left over from the night she and Whiskey'd sat on the balcony of the safe house and drank them. When nine o'clock rolled around and the sky had grown dark, Maddie stayed in the kitchen with Whiskey when Victor and Sierra went upstairs to bed.  
   
"Go to bed," Whiskey said, in a tired voice.  
   
"I'm fine," Maddie protested lightly. "I want to stay up with you."  
   
"I'm not in the mood."  
   
"Yes, you are," Maddie told her and flourished the beer in front of her.  
   
A moment passed and then Whiskey's face relaxed and she offered Maddie a small smile. "Okay. But keep in mind that I'm only doing this to keep you from bothering the fuck out of me. And also because I like alcohol."  
   
"I'll be good," Maddie drew an _x_ across her heart; Whiskey rolled her eyes.  
   
It was a start.


	3. Chapter 3

"If I asked you a question," Maddie said some time later, tipping her head back and trying to catch the last few drops of beer still left in her bottle, "would you answer me truthfully?"

   
"Depends on what you were to ask me." Whiskey tossed her empty bottle aside; Maddie heard the sound of it hit the pavement and smash into a hundred tiny pieces.  
   
"Why do you call yourself Whiskey?"  
   
Whiskey laughed. "Haven't figured it out then, have you? Makes sense; you probably just assumed Victor and Sierra's names are real."  
   
"Aren't they?"  
   
"Fuck no. But don't ask me what their real names are, because I honestly have no fucking clue. Anyway, there's no big secret behind 'Whiskey' -- sorry to disappoint. It's simply part of the NATO phonetic alphabet. 'Alpha, delta, charlie,' you know, like they used to have on all those shitty cop dramas way back when? Whiskey just stands for 'w.' Victor's is 'v,' Sierra's is 's' -- you get the idea."  
   
Maddie blushed, embarrassed at the simplicity of it all. "Oh. Sorry; I thought there was a story behind it or something."  
   
"Sadly not," Whiskey shook her head, still grinning. "Alpha, our de facto leader, he was the one to actually come up with it, but the rest of us just went along. It seemed cool, I guess. He's the one who gave us all our names, you know, though I don't know if there's an actual meaning behind everyone's name. He named himself Alpha, of course, which makes sense. He told me once he'd named me Whiskey because I was so disagreeable. And Kilo, I know she was named so because she used to do cocaine. So I suppose all the names _did_ mean something -- at least to Alpha, if to no one else."  
   
"So, Victor and Sierra -- ?"  
   
"No fucking idea. Victor can speak Russian, though. Maybe that's what it was."  
   
Maddie pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging her arms around them. The night air had gotten colder since dinner. Having lived in Los Angeles her entire life, she'd never actually experienced real fall weather before; from her recent, limited experience with it, she was entirely opposed to it. Whiskey however, didn't seem to mind the cold, having shrugged out of her leather jacket before they'd sat down, her arms bare, sitting back against the wall with her legs stretched out in front of her.  
   
Whiskey pulled a pack of smokes from the back pocket of her jeans, offered one to Maddie, who turned it down.  
   
"I think you need a name," Whiskey after some time, after she'd finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the dirt.  
   
Maddie turned. "What?"  
   
"It's not right that you don't have one," Whiskey said, shoving her hands into her pockets, the breeze catching her hair and pulling loose a few strands from her ponytail. "After all, you're the odd one out of our little group because of it, you know? So you need a name."  
   
"I don't know any of the NATO alphabet," Maddie said. "So how can I pick a name for myself?"  
   
"You're not going to _pick_. I'm going to _give_ you one."  
   
Maddie picked at a tear along the knee of her jeans. "Like what?"  
   
Whiskey shrugged, brought her hands out of her pockets and lit herself another cigarette, holding it between her teeth as she stood up. Maddie followed suit, brushing herself off and running a hand through her hair, pushing the bangs away from her forehead.  
   
"Give me some time to think about it," Whiskey said, as they made their way across the street back to the safe house. "I want it to be good -- it _will_ be good. The fucking best ever."  
   
"I trust you," Maddie said, surprised at her own words.  
   
Inside, Whiskey fetched them both glasses from the kitchen cabinet, setting them down on the worn-out wooden table to rummage around some more until she'd managed to find a mostly-full bottle of Absolut. "Here," she said, uncapping it and pouring Maddie a glass. Maddie wasn't particularly fond of vodka straight, especially the low-quality kind like this, but beggars couldn't be choosers, so she gamely took a gulp, grimacing as it burned going down her throat.  
   
 Whiskey sat down next to her, pulling her chair in closer; it made a sickening scraping sound against the linoleum.  
   
"You know, there used to be more of us," she said, pouring herself a drink. "In Alpha's gang, I mean. There were about ten or so of us, originally, but most of them are gone now, either dead or whereabouts unknown. Take Juliet and Kilo, for instance," she paused, downed half her glass, "they were the only outsiders to stay with us the longest. Kilo had a temper to match Alpha's and she could hold her own against him, too. She always fought dirty," Whiskey smiled at the memory.  
   
Maddie leaned back in her seat. "Yeah? What happened to her?"  
   
"Don't know." Whiskey shrugged. "Most likely dead. She was closest to Kilo; they came to us as a pair and fuck if they weren't the most dysfunctional couple I'd ever seen -- and I'm counting the two of us, mind; they fought all the time. Real, full on fist-fights. But they were devoted to each other, oddly enough. Juliet used to sometimes call Kilo 'Mandy'; I guess that was her real name. She was the only one who ever called Kilo that. And when Juliet died -- shot in the side, probably could have lived if we'd gotten her taken care of right away, but she bled right out on the street -- that's when Kilo left us. She was always like that; she couldn't handle what happened. Don't know where she went, but it probably wasn't any place good."  
   
"That's sad," Maddie said quietly, staring down at her drink.  
   
"No, that's life," Whiskey told her, finishing off her vodka. "People like her, they never last long. Especially not in this kind of world. You've got to have fight in you. Whatever part of her that made her keep on wanting to live, well, that part of her died along with Juliet."  
   
Maddie was quiet for a bit. Then, "Would you be like that? If tomorrow I died -- "  
   
"You won't."  
   
"But say if I _did_ , what would you -- "  
   
"It's a stupid question," Whiskey said, annoyed, rolling her eyes and pouring herself to another drink. "Anyway, what do you expect me to say? Of course I wouldn't be like Kilo; she was weak and stupid and it was only a matter of time before one of them was killed. That's how things were -- _are_ \-- and she was only deluding herself into thinking she and Juliet were invincible. So no," she downed her drink in one gulp, slamming her glass down a bit too roughly. "You're _not_ my whole world, Madeline Costley, even if you like to think you are."  
   
"What is your fucking _damage_?" Maddie asked, knuckles turning white from gripping her glass too tightly. "First of all, that's entirely _not_ the point. And second of all, I always thought you were a total bitch, but congratulations, you've really managed to outdo yourself this time."  
   
Whiskey stood up, stared down at her, jaw set. "If you don't like it, you can just fuck off."  
   
" _Fine_ ," Maddie pushed herself out of her seat, still holding onto her beer as if for dear life. "I'm just baggage anyway, aren't I? I'm sure you'd be just _so_ fucking better off without me; God only knows why you've kept me around this long."  
   
"Yes, go on," Whiskey said meanly. "Keep on feeling sorry for yourself."  
   
"Fuck you," Maddie spat, feeling the hot sting of angry tears in her eyes; she forced them back down, swallowing hard. She shoved past Whiskey towards the front door, slamming it open and tossing her glass down furiously when she was outside.  
   
It was a new moon; the darkness swallowed everything in sight.  
   
Maddie strode off, digging into her pockets until she managed to find a cigarette and an almost-empty pack of matches. She lit up quickly, sucking in the smoke and concentrating on the burn in her throat instead of the one in her eyes. She didn't know where she was going, but what did it matter anyway? Whiskey was a bitch -- and had always been one, as far as Maddie could tell -- and Maddie always found herself torn between wanting to punch her in the face or press her up against the wall and kiss her breathlessly.  
   
This was one of the times she wanted to hit Whiskey though, just beat the fucking life out of her. But she knew that she'd never win in a fight against Whiskey -- not for a long time, anyway -- and it was better to just stay away until they'd both had time to cool down. Whiskey was more than a bit quick-tempered, but she cooled down pretty quickly; it was only a matter of time now, and then Maddie would go back and pretend to be sorry and Whiskey would cuff her upside the head -- or kick her (hard) in the shin, Maddie remembered with a wince -- before tugging her in roughly for a kiss.  
   
Maddie let the cigarette burn too long; she dropped it when it reached her fingers.  
   
Whiskey was fucked up -- they were _both_ fucked up. This thing that they had, it was fucked up as well. But fucked up worked for them, Maddie thought, and wished she hadn't dropped her cigarette, because it was the last one she had. She looked down the street, trying to make out the shapes of the buildings in the dark. She'd have to find a place to sleep for the night. In the morning, she'd find Whiskey and they'd make up.  
   
Yes; things would be better in the morning.

   
;;

   
Whiskey was up when Maddie returned the next day, sore from sleeping in such a small, cramped space -- she'd managed to find a run-down train station nearby, and after barricading the doors, she'd curled up on one of the benches and tried to sleep. It'd mostly been a fitful sleep; she kept dreaming about the time she saw Whiskey cut that thief's throat, dreamt that she was the one who did it, the blood splattering over her, getting in her eyes and turning the world red.  
   
"You're back early," Whiskey said conversationally. "I didn't expect you to be back for at least two days."  
   
"Yeah, well, where else have I got to go," Maddie grumbled, kicking off her boots by the door and flopping down on the bed with a sigh, wanting nothing more than to just curl up and doze in the sun in bed all day. "If you want to argue some more, fine," Maddie said into her pillow, not opening her eyes, "but not right now, because I'm really _not_ in the mood."  
   
Whiskey snorted; Maddie heard the sound of a match being struck and Whiskey inhaling.  
   
She was tired and sore. The longer she laid there, the heavier her eyelids felt, and she struggled against herself to keep awake. Eventually though her exhaustion got the better of her and she drifted off into a deep sleep that was thankfully dreamless. It felt like hours later -- although it could have only been minutes, Maddie couldn't tell -- when Whiskey was kissing her neck and whispering in Maddie's ear that it was time to wake up.  
   
"Oh, leave me alone," Maddie mumbled into her pillow, still half-asleep. She felt warmer than before and after a minute she realized it was because Whiskey had slipped underneath the covers and had curled up against her, an arm wrapped loosely around Maddie's waist.  
   
Whiskey chuckled. "Come on now," she said, sounding surprisingly affectionate. "Get up."  
   
Maddie rolled over and leaned forward, bumping their noses together as she kissed Whiskey lazily. She felt Whiskey smile into the kiss and it sent an odd sort of emotion licking along her heart, something she couldn't quite place. It only intensified when Whiskey pulled away, her hand slipping to Maddie's hip, fingers lightly stroking along the exposed skin in the space where Maddie's shirt ended and her jeans began. Maddie sighed and let her eyes flutter closed, but a moment later, after a bit of light, teasing touches, Whiskey pulled back.  
   
Maddie let out a small groan, until she realized that Whiskey had managed to work her shirt up around her breasts, and well, it was getting in the way of things. She sat up, and, after only a moment of fumbling, managed to dispose of both her shirt and her bra, dropping them off the side of the bed.  
   
"Sweet," Whiskey mumbled against Maddie's neck, pressing small kisses there before working her way downward, until her mouth was at the space between Maddie's breasts. Maddie let out another small groan as Whiskey's tongue circled a nipple, once, twice -- agonizingly slowly -- before taking it into her mouth and sucking on it. She tangled her hands in Whiskey's hair, eyes closing again, as Whiskey's tongue worked magic.  
   
And then Whiskey's hand was there too, attending to her other breast, covering it with her hand before giving it a gentle squeeze and Maddie could only let out a strangled _oh_.  
   
Whiskey moved slowly -- almost too slowly. Maddie was growing more and more embarrassingly wet with each moment. Eventually she couldn't stand it any longer, pushing at Whiskey's shoulders until she moved away, giving Maddie enough time to undo her jeans and quickly wriggle out of them and her underpants, both of which joined the other clothes on the floor. Whiskey was still partially dressed, but Maddie was too wound up to care about that. She just wanted Whiskey to _touch_ her -- she felt like she might die otherwise.  
   
"Don't be afraid," Whiskey murmured, lowering her head and kissing the hollow space at the base of Maddie's throat.  
   
Maddie flushed, hips jerking up again as Whiskey's knee pressed firmly up between her thighs. "I'm not afraid."  
   
"You're shaking." Another kiss, this time between Maddie's breasts.  
   
"Maybe I'm just anxious for you to hurry the fuck up," Maddie whispered furiously in Whiskey's ear, as Whiskey moved back up again and trailed kisses and bites along the side of Maddie's neck. She twisted on the bed beneath Whiskey, uncomfortably wet and desperate to be touched properly.  
   
Whiskey grinned, kissed Maddie once roughly before slipping away, settling between Maddie's legs and nipping gently at her inner thigh. "Patience, patience," she mumbled quietly, kissing the spot where Maddie's hip met her thigh mouth moving down even lower, a moment later.  
   
" _Oh_ ," Maddie whimpered, her head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezed tightly shut, as Whiskey's tongue worked to undo her, her fingers gripping Maddie's thighs roughly enough to leave bruises, later.  
   
She came much too quickly, it felt like, when she arched up against Whiskey's mouth, muscles tense and straining, her mouth dry. Whiskey didn't speak, just kept on stroking with her tongue until Maddie stopped shaking so much; sitting up, she licked her fingers clean, eyes dark and intense. Maddie whimpered at the sight, pulled Whiskey down by the shoulders and kissed her roughly.  
   
After several long moments of kissing, Whiskey rolled them both over, and Maddie became acutely aware of how this hadn't quite ended yet, how she still had her part of this to hold up. She pressed her knee against Whiskey, felt desire pool low in her belly when Whiskey groaned and arched up against her, nails digging hard into Maddie's shoulder.  
   
Maddie was completely clueless as what she was meant to do next, clumsily fumbling to undo Whiskey's jeans as she kissed her, tongue sliding into Whiskey's mouth, but thankfully Whiskey was there to guide her. She reached down and undid the button on her jeans in one swift motion, took Maddie's hand and guided it down, beneath her jeans, beneath her underpants to --  
   
" _Fuck_ ," Maddie whispered, feeling the wetness coating her fingers. Whiskey only nodded and bit her lip, once more arching up into the touch. Maddie stroked her fingers once, twice experimentally, slipping around Whiskey's clit.  
   
"Come on," Whiskey whimpered, straining against Maddie's hand. "Harder."  
   
Maddie did as she was told, until her wrist got cramped, and then she pulled her hand away so that she could tug down Whiskey's jeans and underwear and see to her properly. Whiskey hissed as Maddie's thumb pressed firmly against her clit, hips rocking forward when Maddie slipped one finger, then another -- and another, at Whiskey's request -- into Whiskey.  
   
Like before, it was over much too quickly. When Maddie replaced her thumb with her tongue, keeping her fingers moving at a nice, steady pace, it was enough to send Whiskey over the edge. She bucked up, hands gripping the sheets so hard her knuckles were white. Maddie watched her, the way her eyes were squeezed shut, how her mouth was opened in a slight moan.  
   
It was, without a doubt, the hottest thing Maddie had ever seen. She slid her fingers out of Whiskey, licked them clean without an ounce of hesitation; Whiskey groaned at the sight, locking her legs around Maddie's waist.  
   
"Jesus, fuck," Whiskey panted, when she finally caught her breath, running a shaky hand through her hair, face flushed a rather bright pink. "Come the fuck here."  
   
Maddie did as she was told, sliding up next to Whiskey and kissing her.  
   
"How was it?" She asked, feeling worried despite the almost uncharacteristically wide grin on Whiskey's face. "I mean, I think it was okay, but if it wasn't -- well, I know it wasn't perfect, and -- I can get better. You know. With practice."  
   
Whiskey rolled her eyes. "Don't ruin the moment, kid," she told Maddie, sliding her arms around Maddie's waist and pulling her in for a rough hug, her mouth pressing light, open-mouthed kisses along Maddie's collarbone and shoulder.  
   
Maddie made an apologetic sound, her fingers trailing up and down Whiskey's back under her thin shirt, feeling the warm, damp skin beneath her fingertips, the curve of her spine. Whiskey suddenly seemed so small in her arms like this, and Maddie was momentarily caught off-guard by it,  
   
"Was that your first time?" Whiskey asked after several long moments, staring at Maddie with wide, dark eyes.  
   
Maddie thought that was a rather inappropriate sort of question to ask, but flushed and answered anyway. "No. Well, with a girl, yes, but not in the general sense." She paused, looking curiously at Whiskey. "What, did you really think I was a virgin?"  
   
Whiskey shrugged, nonchalant.  
   
"I'm guessing that wasn't _your_ first time," Maddie said, after a moment, stroking her fingers along the bare skin of Whiskey's shoulder.  
   
"No," Whiskey said in a matter-of-fact way, shifting in closer to kiss Maddie on the forehead. "It wasn't. But it was the first time in a long time that I actually _enjoyed_ it."  
   
Maddie had half a mind to ask Whiskey what she meant by that, then quickly decided against it; she wasn't quite ready to hear all the details of Whiskey's life prior to three months ago. Instead, she moved forward, covering Whiskey's breasts with her hands, feeling the nipples harden against her palms. One of her hands slid away, slipping down to Whiskey's hip before slipping inside.  
   
Whiskey sucked in her breath sharply. "Again?" She said, into her pillow, sounding a bit surprised, even as she rolled onto her back, parting her legs to allow Maddie greater purchase.

   
;;

   
It wasn't a fairy-tale romance.  
   
Maddie hadn't expected it to be, but she had expected there to be some sort of change after she and Whiskey had slept together. But Whiskey's indifference had only seemed to intensify after that night and it frustrated Maddie to no end. There were days where Whiskey barely said five words to her and on a good day, their only exchanges were small, clipped conversations about what to do and where to go and if they had enough supplies to last them until the last safe house. The nights were better; Whiskey would slip into bed beside Maddie when her guard duty shift was over, and invariably her hand would settle between Maddie's thighs, stroking lightly until Maddie woke up and kissed her hard enough to take both their breaths away.  
   
Usually Whiskey was the one in control, pinning Maddie to the bed and working her tongue and hands over her agonizingly slowly, until Maddie would dig her nails into Whiskey's shoulder hard enough to break the skin and beg for more. And it was good, but not as nice as the times when they were on level playing ground, when there was an equal give and take and Whiskey was just as much undone by Maddie as Maddie was undone by her.  
   
At times she thought about confronting Whiskey about it, but the days, and eventually the weeks passed, she grew less and less bothered by it. Things had been a bit better after they left the safe house in Lansing, but not that much better. Ultimately, Whiskey only usually paid attention to her if she was feeling particularly romantic (which wasn't very often) or if she was angry about something (which was). Maddie tried to stay out of her way, but she was used to shooting off her mouth, and more often than not she ended up on the receiving end of a punch Whiskey was throwing. It really wasn't so bad, mostly because she was used to it, but also because she knew it was how Whiskey dealt with things.  
   
And Whiskey _did_ care; Maddie knew she did. She just had a hard time showing it; it was okay. At any rate, it was better than when Whiskey was annoying her, something Maddie could not stand at all. She couldn't understand how Whiskey could just switch her emotions on and off like that; one moment she'd be nuzzling up against Maddie's neck, pressing a kiss to the space below her ear, and the next she'd be sulking over something Victor or Sierra said to her, breaking a hundred on the freeway and not talking to anyone.  
   
"She's like that," Victor had said simply to her one day after Whiskey'd given her a black eye for talking back about where they had to stay for the evening. "You just have to learn how to stay on her good side."  
   
"Yeah, well, I never know which side _is_ her good side," Maddie grumbled and went to bed sore and tired and worn out. Whiskey had slid into bed with her later that evening, pressing light kisses along her shoulder and arm and Maddie'd only been able to resist her for so long, finally rolling over so that she was facing Whiskey, breath hitching in her throat as Whiskey's fingers traced over the small space of bare skin where Maddie's shirt rode up a bit.  
   
It was complicated, Maddie thought, but she couldn't imagine it any other way. Not anymore.  
   
She still didn't know where they were headed and Whiskey didn't volunteer the information. They'd been heading for the East Coast ever since they'd left Glen River, but as for why or where, Maddie was clueless. Victor and Sierra were no help either; Victor said that Whiskey knew and that was good enough and Sierra gave her a look that meant she thought Maddie was a complete fucking idiot and said nothing. So Maddie dozed on and off in the backseat and watched the scenery fly by, trying to imagine what was going on in all the towns they passed.  
   
Every so often they caught the news, when the AM radio in the Impala could pick up a signal. The whole outside world seemed foreign to her now, ever since she'd come on board with Whiskey; it was strange to hear people talking about things that used to matter. From the bits and pieces she heard, she learned that the zombie plague was beginning to pass and that there were companies working now to come up with an antidote, if there was one. The best they could do at this point was just to prepare for another plague.  
   
"Shut that off," Whiskey said tiredly, and Victor reached over and flicked the knob to the left, effectively silencing the voice. "They keep talking about salvation," Whiskey said. "First it was religion, now it's the medical companies. It's only a matter of time before people start looking for the next thing that can save them. But fuck it -- it's not about that, is it? It's about saving yourself. You're the only one who can grant yourself salvation."  
   
"What about the people who can't save themselves?" Maddie asked. "What about the people who can't do it on their own?"  
   
"They die," Sierra said, studying her nails. "That's what happens. Natural selection runs its course. The strongest live and the weakest die out."  
   
"Well, I don't agree with that."  
   
Sierra eyed her. "No, you wouldn't, would you? After all, your Whiskey's little charity case. You'd be dead by now if she hadn't stepped in to save you." She paused, picked at a scab on her knuckle. "It's a pity, really."  
   
"Shut up, Sierra," Whiskey said flatly, looking at them both in the rearview mirror.  
   
"Well, hey, if the truth hurts," Sierra shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, but she didn't say anything else for the rest of the day.  
   
She was right though, Maddie thought, as she readied herself for bed that evening, splashing her face with ice cold water and drying off with a spare shirt. If it wasn't for Whiskey, she'd be dead right now. She knew it; she'd known it since day one, hadn't let a single moment go by without reminding herself who was responsible for why she was alive right now.  
   
Whiskey was already asleep by the time Maddie got back to bed. Maddie crawled in beside her and wrapped her arms so tightly around Whiskey's waist that for a moment she was afraid she'd crack a rib. But Whiskey only stirred and woke up just enough to sigh, "Maddie," smiling slightly and kissing her clumsily on the bridge of her nose.

   
;;

   
One October afternoon, Whiskey had decided that they were all sorely in need of a break, and gave Victor and Sierra the rest of the day to do whatever they wanted. They'd fucked off immediately, of course, without so much as a glance backwards, even when Whiskey shouted after them to be back by eleven o'clock and to fucking warn her if they found anything while they were out. Maddie'd been given the afternoon off as well, but she didn't want to do anything but stay with Whiskey, who seemed less than pleased to have the company.  
   
"Don't you have anything better to do than to stay here with me?" she'd asked after a few minutes, annoyed, smoke drifting up from the end of her cigarette. "Can't you go off and find someone else to bother?"  
   
"You know there's no one else," Maddie told her flatly.  
   
"Right, well. I suppose I'll just have to put up with you for a bit, won't I?"

Maddie rolled her eyes. "Don't kill yourself or anything. And anyway, whatever, I get it: You don't want to spend time with me. Apparently I'm only good for fucking and stealing cars and not much else. So just, whatever. I'll go sit upstairs and stare at the ceiling until it's time to get back up again. Like a loser," she added sourly, and turned to leave.  
   
"Oh, come now, Maddie," Whiskey said in a purposely sweet voice, a smile dancing across her lips. "Don't be like that. Come on, let's go out for a walk."  
   
"Are you sure you can stand to be with me for that long?" Maddie said meanly, but she turned around and allowed Whiskey to wrap an arm around her waist as they headed outside, the air thick and hot. Maddie shrugged out of her coat only a moment later, slinging it over her shoulder. Whiskey kept hers on; Maddie wondered how she could stand it.  
   
They walked until they found a small park some blocks down from Town Hall. The grass had become overgrown and the fountain in the middle of the park had gone dry, but it was nice enough, especially since it was the first time Maddie'd gotten to see anything resembling a park since she was sixteen. They found a space of grass that wasn't quite as high and unkempt of the rest of it and sat down.  
   
Maddie got them both cigarettes and for some time they sat around quietly, until their cigarettes burned out and Whiskey lay back down on the grass, folded her arms behind her head, and dozed off. Maddie watched her silently, the steady rise and fall of her chest, brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen out of Whiskey's ponytail and onto her face, bent down and lightly kissed the bridge of Whiskey's nose.  
   
Whiskey stirred at that. "Sleep," she grumbled, patting grass behind Maddie, and Maddie sighed and curled up next to her, not tired enough to sleep, but content enough to lie beside Whiskey and watch her, one arm draped loosely around Whiskey's middle.  
   
At some point she must have drifted off to sleep, because when she opened up her eyes, the sky had grown dark and Whiskey was sitting beside her smoking. She looked down when Maddie stirred and her face broke out into a smile, one of the more genuine ones Maddie had seen in all the time they'd spent together. Whiskey flicked away her smoke and leaned over to kiss her. It was softer than the type of kisses Whiskey normally gave her and Maddie couldn't help smiling into it.  
   
"You're nice when you're quiet," Whiskey told her, still smiling. "Now, if you could only just spend all your time sleeping -- "  
   
"If that's what it takes for you to not give me a split lip, I'll gladly do it," Maddie said, sitting up, and Whiskey laughed at that. Maddie didn't quite have the nerve to tell Whiskey that it wasn't intended to be a joke; instead, she managed a wider smile and moved over and kissed Whiskey again, straddling her hips.  
   
She was trailing kisses along Whiskey's neck, Whiskey's hand up her shirt, when suddenly Whiskey's hand stilled and she pulled away. "No, stop."  
   
Maddie sat back. "What's wrong?"  
   
"Nothing. I just -- not here," Whiskey said, withdrawing her hand completely.  
   
"Okay." Maddie climbed off her and sat back down on the grass, resting back on her hands. It was the first time Whiskey had ever pulled away from her like that before. There was something wrong, Maddie knew it. _What_ was wrong was the bigger question -- and Whiskey wasn't obviously wasn't going tell her. Instead of bothering to ask, she fished around in her pocket until she found a near-empty box of matches and a bent cigarette.  
   
She lit up wordlessly, took a small drag, and passed it over to Whiskey who mumbled a "thanks" and sucked in deeply.  
   
"Hey," Maddie said, after a while. "Are you okay?"  
   
Whiskey didn't answer.  
   
Maddie tried again. "It's dark out. I don't know what time it is. We should be getting back, shouldn't we? Victor and Sierra will be waiting for us."  
   
Whiskey shook her head. "They'll be fine on their own for a little while."  
   
"Don't," Maddie said, moving forward and kissing the side of Whiskey's mouth. "Come on, Whiskey. Don't do that. Don't you pull away from me like that."  
   
Whiskey turned and looked at her, hard. Several long moments passed between them before Whiskey finally reached around to her back pocket and got out her pack of Lucky Strike, crumpled and half-empty. She took one out deliberately slowly, putting it to her lips and striking a match, exhaling as she lit up.  
   
"I want you to call me Claire from now on."  
   
"Why?"  
   
"Just because," Whiskey blew out a mouthful of smoke, tapping her cigarette sharply with one finger. "Because I said so."  
   
"No."  
   
"You'll do as you're told, Maddie Costley." Whiskey frowned and glared at her, but there was no anger behind her words.  
   
Maddie stared at her until Whiskey turned away, shaking her head; it seemed as if it was a comment only to herself. The wind picked up for a moment and Maddie shivered against the cold, wishing she'd had the sense to bring her jacket along with her. She rubbed her arms and wished they could be back in bed, even if Whiskey was in a sour mood. At least she'd be warm.  
   
Finally, annoyed, she sighed. "Is Claire even your real name?" she asked, exasperated by Whiskey's stubbornness.  
   
Whiskey was silent for several long moments. Then, simply, "No."  
   
Maddie bit her lip. "What is your real name, then?"  
   
Another long silence. Finally Whiskey said, still staring off into the distance, "What does it matter?"  
   
"Names are important."  
   
Whiskey snorted. "Whiskey or Claire, what's the difference? Why can't I request to be called one thing and not another? I'm both of them, after all -- aren't I? I am Whiskey, but I'm not. I'm Claire too, but then again, I'm not really her either. I'm certainly _not_ the person I was before then, before both of those names became me. So again, what does it matter what I want to be called? It doesn't matter at all, because I'm not really any of those people, am I?"  
   
"I don't believe that," Maddie said, picking at the grass. "You're still the same person, on the inside. That hasn't changed. I know it hasn't. And that isn't how it works, anyway -- maybe it's easy for you to pretend that you can leave behind those parts of you, but you can't, not really. They're still who you are."  
   
"Oh, Christ," Whiskey groaned, rolling her eyes, "can't you ever just _stop_? Do you even _realize_ how fucking annoying you are? Goddamn," she muttered, shaking her head and pulling out another cigarette. "It's times like this when I wish I'd left you to rot back in Glen River; I wouldn't have had to put up with you."  
   
Maddie frowned and said, "If you hate me so much, why don't you stop fucking me?"  
   
And just like that, the mood changed. Whiskey turned to face Maddie slowly, smoke escaping from between her lips as her mouth curved up into a smile. "Oh," she said, stubbing her cigarette out into the dirt.

"Oh," Whiskey said again, still grinning, moving in a bit closer. "Is this how things are going to be?"  
   
"Yes," Maddie said, working very hard to keep her expression stern and unwavering, even as Whiskey moved in ever closer, until her lips were hovering just above Maddie's and Maddie could feel Whiskey's breath on her skin.  
   
"Clever girl, you," Whiskey said in a low voice, before kissing her.

   
;;

   
When they rolled into Pittsburgh, it looked exactly like every city they'd been to thus far; ravaged from disease and zombie infested -- the whole goddamn place just falling apart. Sierra and Maddie had actually agreed on something for once, when they'd both wanted to drive through the city and see if there was anything left worth savaging, but Whiskey, forever the voice of reason, reminded them they were tired and hungry and running on a limited supply of ammunition, all of which made them less likely to survive the inevitable zombie attack.  
   
"Or we could run across a gang," Whiskey said in a voice which Maddie now recognized as the one that sounded like she was dealing with children, "and we'd be absolutely fucked up the ass then, wouldn't we? We're too fucking outnumbered and we just haven't got the strength."  
   
Maddie had pouted about it for a little while afterward regardless, mostly because she'd wanted to see just how _bad_ things had gotten, but once they were back on the highway, doing a hundred and ten and dodging the odd abandoned or crashed car here and there, she forgot all about it, looking forward instead to where they'd be sleeping tonight and if it would involve an actual bed or not.  
   
Victor finally said something to Whiskey -- something Maddie didn't catch, but she figured it had to do with finding a place to take shelter for the night while there was still some daylight, because a moment later Whiskey was pulling into the right lane and taking the next exit they came across.  
   
It was some town called Nunnery; Maddie couldn't help but snort at the name.  
   
Like usual, they found an abandoned shop a few streets down from the main road and set up camp there, on the second floor, which thankfully must have been used once for apartment space, because there were two beds -- complete with _mattresses_ ; Maddie didn't even give a shit about the stains on them -- and a kitchen and bathroom -- no running water, though, but that was usually the case these days.  
   
"We'll find someplace better tomorrow," Whiskey told them as they settled in for the night. "Someplace that isn't quite as out in the open."  
   
Victor and Sierra nodded seriously, but Maddie cared fuck-all for those sort of things and without a word, flopped down on one of the beds and began to drift off to sleep. She was rather rudely awakened, a moment later, when Whiskey ribbed her in the side and told her to "move the fuck over, you're hogging the whole goddamn bed."  
   
Maddie did as she was instructed and Whiskey climbed into bed next to her, rolling onto her side -- back facing the wall, and thus, Maddie, and curling up into a tiny ball. Maddie groaned sleepily and re-arranged herself, not wanting to be pressed up against the wall and unable to sleep all night. She was a bit surprised that Whiskey wasn't staying up for guard duty -- Whiskey usually took first shift -- but a glance across the room told her that Victor was the one up tonight. Sierra was lying sprawled out on the other bed, in nothing but her undergarments, looking the most relaxed Maddie had seen her in quite some time.  
   
Some time during the night Maddie woke up hot and sticky with sweat, despite the cool September weather. It seemed that wearing so many layers, combined with sharing the bed with Whiskey, who in her sleep had rolled over and curled an arm tightly around Maddie's waist, had left her over-heated. She gently untangled herself from Whiskey and got up to get undressed, kicking off her boots.  
   
"Oh," a voice said, and Victor appeared in the doorway, his gun at the ready. "It's just you."  
   
Maddie yanked off her sweatshirt, dropping it beside her boots and coat. "Yeah, sorry. I just got a bit too hot sleeping with -- well, I had on too many layers," she explained, glancing over at Whiskey, who had rolled over onto her stomach in Maddie's absence. "Did you think -- well, sorry."  
   
Victor lowered his gun, shrugging his shoulders. "Better a false alarm than -- "  
   
"Yeah."  
   
His gaze turned to Sierra, who was still fast asleep on the other bed, mouth open just slightly, her chest rising and falling with each low, shallow breath. Maddie collected her clothes into a neat little pile, and when Victor returned to the other room, she followed after him.  
   
He was sitting at what appeared to be the kitchen table, his gun sitting on the table top, a cigarette smoldering in a shot glass -- a makeshift ashtray -- beside it. He looked up when Maddie walked in, drew the cigarette up to his mouth and shook his head.  
   
"You should be asleep."  
   
"I get that all the time," Maddie remarked, not unkindly, and slid into an empty seat at the table. "Thing is, I'm already so awake right now that I think falling asleep at this point isn't going to happen. Besides, Whiskey hasn't had a decent night's sleep in fuckin' ages. I don't mind surrendering the bed for one night."  
   
Victor chuckled. "Don't you do that every night?"  
   
Maddie felt her face grow bright red at the implication, which elicited another chuckle from Victor, along with a broad grin.  
   
"Never mind, I'm just teasing," he said. "Whiskey was right -- you _do_ embarrass easily, don't you?" -- Maddie's face grew even redder at that -- "I don't know how she sees herself in you, truth be told. She was a lot different, when she was younger, but she was never a little thing like you."  
   
"Hey," Maddie interjected, bristling a bit. "I'm not as naive as I look, yeah? Just because -- well, I'm not a Whiskey."  
   
"Clearly not." Victor stubbed his scutt out in the shot glass. "No one else is, either. She's one-of-a-fucking-kind. What I'm wondering is, though, what she sees in a kid like yourself."  
   
Maddie shrugged. "You may as well ask her yourself, because I don't know. And believe me, I've asked; she just won't tell me. Not really, anyway -- hell, I don't even think _she_ knows, if we're going to sit around and be fucking honest here. I thought -- well, I mean, sometimes I'm not even sure why _I_ like _her_." She paused. "But I don't think that's the sort of thing you can explain, you know? Like, if I were to ask you about Sierra -- "  
   
"She's beautiful, she makes me laugh, we've known each other forever -- I can give you the whole fucking list, if that's what you're looking for."  
   
"But sometimes it's _different_ ," Maddie insisted, sitting forward some in her chair. "Sometimes you don't know why or how you ended up caring about someone, you just do."  
   
Victor was quiet for a moment. Then, "How does she make you feel?"  
   
Maddie was surprised with the answer that came out. "Safe."  
   
"There you go then," Victor told her, pushing himself away from the table and standing up. "Now, I've got to go do another sweep of the house, alright? You go try and get some sleep -- or at least go back to bed and be with Whiskey; things like that, you've got to hang onto them as long as you can, you know? You don't know if tonight's the last night you'll ever spend together."  
   
"Oh," Maddie said, watching as he fiddled with the safety lock on his gun. "You know, I would have never expected that."  
   
Victor looked at her, hard. "What?"  
   
"Nothing," Maddie smiled sweetly at him. "Just that, you know, you're kind of romantic. I wouldn't have thought you'd be the type. But it's nice," she reassured him quickly, standing up as well. "It means that I was wrong about you. You're not as bad as I thought."  
   
"Yeah, well, you're not so bad yourself -- sometimes. "  
   
"That's not really a compliment, but I'll take it as one anyway," Maddie told him, and he gave her a slight smile before turning away and heading off into the darkness downstairs. When Maddie could no longer hear the sound of his boots on the steps, she headed back inside to the next room, where Whiskey was still lying sound asleep.  
   
She crawled over Whiskey, who mumbled something incoherent in her sleep; settling down beside her, Maddie kissed her forehead, draped an arm loosely around Whiskey's waist. She kissed Whiskey's forehead and murmured a goodnight, and Whiskey stirred, half-waking.  
   
"Hello," Maddie said quietly.  
   
"Hey," Whiskey said, kissing her. "You weren't here. Where were you?"  
   
"Just talking to Victor. He told me to go back to bed."  
   
"Good man," Whiskey said, kissing Maddie again, softer this time, folding her arms around Maddie and drifting back off to sleep once more.  
   
As Maddie lay there in the semi-darkness, moonlight falling through the one window in the room, her head pressed against Whiskey's chest, listening to her slow, steady heartbeats, she thought about what she'd said earlier to Victor, about how Whiskey made her feel safe. She'd never thought about it until that moment and it'd startled her, the knowledge of it. But she knew that safety wasn't all there was to it -- she also didn't know how to explain that to Victor, about how Whiskey was nice to her even before they even knew each other or the way Whiskey'd looked back that evening when they'd gotten high together, almost a year earlier, how she'd looked so open, so vulnerable.  
   
The Whiskey everyone else saw, Maddie included, Maddie knew wasn't the real Whiskey. The real Whiskey -- Claire, maybe -- was buried under layers and layers, but sometimes it seemed like bits of Claire leaked through, and that was what Maddie liked. She couldn't separate the two, didn't even know if it was _possible_ to separate Whiskey from Claire and Claire from Whiskey, but that was, somehow, what made her like Whiskey all the better.  
   
It was the oddest thing she had ever felt.

   
;;

   
They left Nunnery shortly after.  
   
Finally Maddie complained that Whiskey should at least give her an idea of where they were headed and Whiskey, with a frown, grudgingly explained to her that they were trying to get to D.C.  
   
"Washington?" Maddie asked incredulously, around an unlit cigarette (they'd run out of matches and their lighters had all dried up). "Why the fuck are we headed there? And, for the record, you do know that we just took the goddamn longest way to get there, right?"  
   
"First of all, if you knew anything at all, you goddamn idiot," Whiskey said in an angry tone, "you'd know that we couldn't just fuckin' traipse across the country just saying 'fuck all'. There were specific places we had to stop at, routes that I _knew_ would be safe, places I _knew_ we'd be able to stop at so we didn't die of dehydration or zombies or whatever the fuck else you like. Second of all, we're going there because I'm trying to find someone."  
   
" _Who_?"  
   
Whiskey rolled her eyes. "I don't have to tell you fucking anything, you know. But I'll tell you this, because you won't ever leave me the fuck alone if I don't -- her name's Bennett. No, you don't know her, no, she's not a gang member, and no to whatever it is you're planning on asking me."  
   
Maddie shut her mouth.  
   
Whiskey was in a foul mood, of course. They all were, on account of the heat and not having eaten for nearly two days. Maddie didn't chance asking anything else for the rest of the car ride, settling down in the backseat beside Sierra and trying unsuccessfully to make herself fall asleep.  
   
"Told you not to bother her with stupid fucking questions," Sierra scolded her later when they were breaking into a gas station to try and jack access to the pumps. "She doesn't like it -- even if you _are_ fucking her."  
   
"Whatever." Maddie said, rolling her eyes and ignoring her. She threw away her smoke, which had since been gnawed to bits. She had the raw taste of tobacco in her mouth and it was more than a bit off-putting. Leaning through the open Impala window, she dug around in the backseat until she found one of the water canteens, unscrewing the cap and gargling a mouthful of water before spitting it out.  
   
Sierra looked at her with disgust. "You're fucking wasting it."  
   
"Fuck off."  
   
She should have seen it coming, but she didn't. Sierra's elbow whipped around and caught her square in the nose. Maddie saw stars for an instant and almost dropped the whole canteen of water, only tightening her grip on it a second later when she realized an accident like that could cause her to get beat-up even worse. Even on her good days Whiskey wasn't the most benevolent of individuals -- and today was definitely not a good day.  
   
"What the _fuck_ ," Maddie spit out, clutching her nose with her free hand, fingers slippery with blood. "You're a fucking _psycho_."  
   
"You shut the fuck up, Maddie Costley," Sierra told her, glaring at her. "You need to fucking learn your place."  
   
As quickly as possible Maddie'd re-capped the canteen and had her hands balled into fists, ready for a fight. Sierra made like she was about to lunge forward and Maddie steeled herself for another blow and --  
   
"What the _hell_ are you doing."  
   
They both looked up.  
   
Whiskey was standing there with crossed arms and a murderous look on her face. Victor, only a few feet away, had his jaw set; his expression was unreadable, but Maddie knew enough to know he wasn't pleased. She lowered her fists, shoving her hands into her pockets, not caring that her nose was still dripping with blood, splattering onto her white tank top and staining it a dark crimson color. Sierra took a step back, quickly lowering her hands as well.  
   
For a moment they all stared at each other.  
   
Whiskey turned to Maddie first. "Why the fuck are you bleeding?"  
   
"Sierra elbowed me in the face," Maddie said, with a pointed look to her right; Sierra glowered at her.  
   
"Why did she do that?"  
   
"Because she's a fucking psychotic bitch."  
   
That answer earned her a punch, a strong side-arm pitch that hit her right in the side of her jaw. Clearly it wasn't the response Whiskey had been looking for. She could feel the area swelling up even as she put her hand to it, her head throbbing.  
   
Maddie tried again. "Because she said I needed to learn my place."  
   
"Oh?" Whiskey turned to Sierra, who looked away. "Is that so?"  
   
Sierra didn't have time to react -- or maybe she just didn't think it would be in her best interest to -- when Whiskey took two quick steps forward and hit her square in the face, knocking her back a couple of inches. Sierra gave a cry of pain and covered her hands with her face, blood leaking through her fingers. When she lifted her head up, Maddie could see that her nose was bloody and badly bruised and her right eye was already starting to look black and blue and swollen.  
   
Victor flinched when Whiskey hit Sierra, but he didn't speak or take a step forward.  
   
"Wh-What the actual _fuck_ ," Sierra sputtered angrily, wiping her bloody hands off on her jeans, leaving streaked handprints along her thighs. " _I_ wasn't the one who was doing anything wrong -- she --" Sierra jabbed a finger over towards Maddie, who did nothing but stare back blankly, " -- was the one who was fucking wasting our water supply! And she needs to be taught a lesson anyway, Whiskey. She's got a mouth on her -- " her eyes narrowed and she glanced over quickly at Victor before continuing, " -- but I'm sure you know that already don't you?"  
   
Sierra was pushing her luck. Maddie could see the way Whiskey's lips were set in a thin line, the way the muscles in her jaw twitched; she half-expected her to punch Sierra again, but Whiskey just cleared her throat and said, "You'd do well to remember your own place, Sierra, before reminding others of theirs. And you," she said, turning around and advancing on Maddie. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet?"  
   
"Perhaps not." Maddie said, meeting Whiskey's hard glare.  
   
Whiskey did the thing Maddie expected her to do the least; she slapped Maddie. Hard. Her palm connected flatly with Maddie's already bruising cheek and the sting was terrible. Maddie felt her eyes well up with unwanted tears at the pain, gritted her teeth and forced herself not to let them fall, not to give Whiskey an inch.  
   
"I've had almost enough of _you_ , Madeline Costley," Whiskey said, voice dangerously low and quiet. "Don't think that since you've gotten on my good side once or twice before that you can do whatever the fuck you please now. Don't forget who it was who took you in here , who it was that saved your sorry motherfucking ass, because I can get rid of you just as easily."  
   
"Go on, then," Maddie prodded, not wanting to back down. "Do it."  
   
"Don't fucking tempt me," Whiskey warned her, before socking her hard in the stomach -- one last punishment. Maddie groaned and sunk to her knees, the air knocked completely out of her. Her head, already aching from the two previous blows was spinning now, like she'd just gotten off one of those carousel rides they used to have back when she was a kid.  
   
"Get up," Whiskey said, looking down at her.  
   
Maddie did so, coughing.  
   
Whiskey grabbed her by the face and kissed her roughly. Maddie barely had time to kiss her back before Whiskey pulled away with a grin, her lips red with Maddie's blood. Maddie stared at her curiously.  
   
"Why -- ?"  
   
Whiskey shrugged, completely nonchalant now. "You look pretty when you're all bruised and bloody."  
   
Victor, to the side of them, finally spoke up. "Whiskey," he said in a delicate voice, as if afraid of getting her angry again. "Did you want to talk about what we found? Regarding the gas station, I mean?"  
   
"Right." With a nod, Whiskey detached herself from Maddie and turned so that she was facing the three of them, Victor, Maddie, and Sierra. "When Victor and I were circling the building trying to find an easy way in, we discovered that the back door had been kicked down. We weren't sure if it was recent or not, but there were several sets of footprints in the dust on the floor and anything that was edible had been stolen. Taking into consideration that we haven't seen anyone for days, Victor and I came to the conclusion that people have been here very recently -- could still be living here, even. We suspect that it might be a gang, but it's also possible that it's not. It could just be a ragtag bunch of travelers looking for safety in numbers."  
   
"Gangs?" Sierra spoke up, having partially cleaned the blood off her face at this point. "There aren't any around here -- they're all towards the Midwest and Coast areas. I haven't heard of any being in the East section. Have you?"  
   
Victor shook his head.  
   
"Maybe they're new," Maddie volunteered gamely.  
   
"Maybe," Whiskey said, already deep in thought, and it was simply amazing, Maddie noted, how she could just switch from one frame of mind and emotion to the next, going from pissed off to affectionate to business-like, just _bang bang bang_. Just incredible.  
   
"If it _is_ a gang," Victor told them, "then we'll need to be careful. None of us thought we'd be in any danger coming here -- it turns out we were all wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why the gang's set up territory here. Less competition and easier prey."  
   
Sierra took a step forward. "Victor and I can do a sweep of the area. Check to make sure they're not hanging out anywhere near by."  
   
Whiskey frowned. "No. If they're still here, they won't be living on the outskirts. They'll be right in the center of town, a couple of miles away. That would be the safest place, especially if they've been staying there a while -- or are planning on staying there a while."  
   
"So we'll go into town then and do a sweep there. Surprise the fuckers."  
   
"It won't be that easy."  
   
"I don't ever recall you backing down from a challenge," Sierra said lightly, though there was an edge to her voice that was unmistakable.  
   
Whiskey glanced over at Victor, then at Maddie. "Fine. We'll go into town."


	4. Chapter 4

Whiskey pulled to a stop in front of a boarded up shoe store.

   
"Now remember," she said, in her I'm-talking-to-children voice, "you're only to do a preliminary sweep of the surrounding area -- that means two blocks in every direction, no more, no less. If you see someone -- _anyone_ , even if it's fucking Mother Teresa, I mean it -- I want you coming straight back here. For all we know they wanted us to come looking for them and they're just lying in wait."  
   
Victor _tch_ -ed, but nevertheless agreed to come back the moment they saw or found anything or anyone.  
   
"I could have gone with them, you know," Maddie told Whiskey, once they were alone, Victor and Sierra heading off in the opposite direction down Main Street.  
   
"Yes, sure. Right. You and Sierra come to blows over a bit of spilled water and you'll turn around go _help_ her? Goddammit, Maddie, I never thought you were bright, but sometimes you flat out fucking amaze me with your stupidity."  
   
"I'm just trying to be _useful_ ," Maddie said pointedly, and went to go sulk off to the side, leaning against a fence with her arms crossed.  
   
The day was surprisingly hot for autumn. The sun was bearing down on them heavily and Maddie thought about maybe shrugging off her coat and tossing it into the backseat of the Impala, but she could feel the weight of her gun in one of the pockets and was instantly reminded of how she had no other means to carry such a device. She sighed; apparently she was meant to overheat.  
   
The first shot came when Whiskey was fussing around with her hair, trying to tie it all back into one tight ponytail, only to always discover that she'd managed to miss some strands while gathering it up. She'd been looking at her reflection in the driver's side window and Maddie had been watching her watch herself, when all of a sudden there was a loud popping sound, followed by a sharp _ping_ as something hit the side of the Impala.  
   
"What the fuck -- " Whiskey wondered out loud, turning around. Maddie looked up and saw a small group of men coming down the street perpendicular to where they were parked, carrying --  
   
"Oh, _fuck_ ," Maddie shouted, and jumped behind the car. Whiskey was beside her in a moment, just as there was another round of loud _pop_ s and the sound of bullets hitting the Impala or ricocheting off of the buildings behind them.  
   
Whiskey was silent next to her, pushing aside her jacket and reaching for her Colt.  
   
"They're fucking _shooting_ at us," Maddie said, in near disbelief. As if to punctuate her statement, there was another loud _ping_ sound as a bullet hit the side of the Impala. "What the fuck are they _doing_?"  
   
"What the fuck do you _think_ ," Whiskey snapped, pulling her gun from the holster on her jeans and checking the barrel to make sure it was fully loaded. She took a breath, turned along the side of the Impala, fired three shots, and then, ducked back down beside Maddie. "Where the _fuck_ are Victor and Sierra -- "  
   
Another _ping_ , followed by a round of curses from Whiskey.  
   
Maddie pulled out the .9mm from her jacket pocket. "Do you want me to -- ?"  
   
"Fuck no," Whiskey said, before whipping around the side of the car and firing some more shots. "You just stay fucking _put_ , you hear me? When Victor and Sierra get back from wherever the fuck they are and come give us some goddamn back-up, we'll be golden."  
   
"I think I see them coming now," Maddie squinted, saw two dark figures standing on the corner about half a mile down the road. "Oh, yes, that's them, I can see them better now. They're running towards us -- they've got their guns out."  
   
"About fucking time," Whiskey muttered, firing another couple of shots before the dull click of the Colt announced that the chambers were all empty. "See, this is exactly why I hate guns," Whiskey said, digging around in her jacket and producing a box of ammunition, re-loading her pistol. "So much fucking hassle."  
   
Maddie would've offered up her own weapon, had she thought Whiskey would actually use it. Instead she sat dumbly beside her as Whiskey cursed under her breath, holding the .9mm on her lap and wishing that she could actually be helpful for once (if only so that Sierra would finally shut the hell up about her being useless).  
   
She heard a man shouting, instantly recognized the voice was Victor's, and sat up just high enough to be able to see over the edge of the car. Victor and Sierra had managed to secure themselves behind an overturned metal table, crouching down behind it and firing over the top or around the side. There were only two gang members left now; the other four were on the ground, one facedown, the other three staring up at the afternoon sun, their eyes glassy and mouths open, shirts stained with blood.  
   
"If we charge them, we can take them out," Maddie said, sitting back down beside Whiskey, who clicked the chamber back into place and gave her a hard look.  
   
"What did I tell you about staying put?"  
   
"Oh, for God's sake," Maddie rolled her eyes. "Look, there's only two of them left. There's four of us. You have an excellent shot, as does Sierra. And I _have_ handled a gun before. If you honestly think that I can't handle myself in a situation like this, then you really are a complete fucking moron."  
   
Whiskey thought about it for a moment. "Fine," she said. "We'll do it. But -- " she began, as Maddie started to stand up, checking to make sure the safety was turned off on her gun. "If you get hurt, you're going to have to owe me something. I think that two packs of Lucky Strike would be fair, don't you?"  
   
Maddie stared at her. "I'm not fucking betting on something like that! And no, it's not fair, because you _know_ those are the most expensive brand out there and almost _no one_ sells them anymore."  
   
"Suit yourself." Whiskey started to stand up; Maddie yanked her back down again.  
   
"Okay, yes, I'll bet on it. God, you're a bitch."  
   
"That's why everyone loves me, kid," Whiskey said with a wink and a mean smile and then they both stood up, guns at the ready, firing at the two men who'd been driven into a shop building and were firing from behind a makeshift shield.  
   
Whiskey felled one of them within two shots, hitting a man in the shoulder when he stood up to take a shot at them. Maddie surprised herself by picking up the second guy; after firing off nearly a whole round of shots, she managed to clip him on the side of the neck; he went down fast. By the time Sierra and Victor had moved forward, in order to give Whiskey and Maddie some support, it wasn't even needed.  
   
Victor rushed into the building as soon as the second man fell -- presumably, Maddie thought, to check and see if they were dead. She heard a shot and then the sound of something being dragged; Victor emerged with a body, the man struggling weakly, bleeding from the wound in his shoulder.  
   
"You're bleeding," Whiskey observed casually, and instantly Maddie was aware of a terrible stinging sensation in her left arm. She examined the spot that hurt, wincing when she saw that she'd been clipped by a bullet; it'd torn through her jacket and left a nice gash, which was now slowly leaking blood. "Told you you'd get hurt. You owe me now."  
   
"Fuck off," Maddie said weakly. Whiskey grinned.  
   
"I finished off the other one," Victor told Whiskey, coming up and dropping the man at her feet and wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. "Maddie got him on the side of the neck; he wouldn't have lasted long enough to interrogate."  
   
"Nice shot," Sierra said to Maddie, sounding impressed. "Looks like you may be good for something after all."  
   
It wasn't exactly a compliment, but Maddie felt a swell of pride anyway.  
   
Meanwhile, Whiskey had been standing over the man Victor'd brought her, gun tucked back away and her knife now in hand, an unlit cigarette held between her teeth. She nudged him roughly with the toe of her boot; he groaned, eyes fluttering closed. Whiskey crouched down beside him, looking him over.  
   
"What's your name?"  
   
"Six," the man mumbled.  
   
"That's odd. I haven't heard of any gangs going by numbers," Victor said.  
   
"Maybe it's a new one?" Sierra suggested, with a shrug of her shoulders.  
   
Whiskey prodded the man again, this time with the butt end of her knife. "Are you new?"  
   
"No."  
   
A pause. "Tell me, who's the leader? Did we kill him?"  
   
"No."  
   
"No?" Whiskey said in mock surprise. "Is that the answer to my first or second question? That's a fucking odd name, 'No,' isn't it?" She stood up, kicked Six hard in the side, twice. He moaned, doubling up some as if to shield himself from the blows. "Now you fucking answer me," Whiskey said, voice eerily calm and flat. "Who is the leader of your gang? Is he the one lying out back there with a bullet lodged in his throat?"  
   
"It's not him," Six croaked out, coughing. "That's not him."  
   
"So who is it?"  
   
Silence.  
   
Whiskey got down right close to him, brandishing her knife. "Do you see this? If you don't tell me who it is that's leading your gang, I'm going to split open your neck with it. So whatever loyalty thing you have going on -- you may want to re-think it, because if you don't answer me in the next thirty seconds, you're going to be nothing but a bloodstain on this road."  
   
Six began to protest in earnest. "I don't know who he is, honestly! He never told us his fucking name. We knew him as Zero, but that, that wasn't his real name, we all figured it out. We recognized him from another gang -- but I swear to fucking God that I don't know who he is!"  
   
There was a moment of silence; Whiskey was worrying her bottom lip, obviously trying to work things out in her head. Then, "That's all," she told the man, gripping his face in her hand; she slit his throat. The blood spurted up and splashed on her white tank top and face; Whiskey wiped away the blood from her eyes, mouth set in a hard line.  
   
"Well, that was useful," Sierra said, as Whiskey straightened up, cleaning off her blade on her jeans. "Apparently there's a leader who's going around running multiple gangs, but no one seems to know who he is. Fucking brilliant." She kicked at Six's lifeless body. "You should have let _me_ take care of him."  
   
"Relax," Whiskey told her. "I've already figured things out."  
   
Victor raised his eyebrows. "Really? How? The information this fucker here gave us was anything but helpful."  
   
"Forget what he said," Whiskey rolled her eyes and pointed down at the body. "Look at that there on his wrist.What is that a tattoo of?'  
   
"It looks like a fish," Maddie supplied helpfully, squinting at it. She looked back up at Whiskey. "I don't get it."  
   
"It's not a _fish_ ," Whiskey told them in an annoyed tone. "It's _Alpha_."  
   
"Alpha? Who -- oh," Maddie said, suddenly remembering. Sierra and Victor went rigid beside her, exchanging anxious glances.  
   
Whiskey pulled out a pack of matches, finally lit her cigarette. Maddie watched the flame fly up, yellow and red and hot, watched as it was extinguished when Whiskey dropped it to the ground, the charred remains lying in the dirt and blood that'd pooled at Whiskey's feet. The air was thick with the summer heat and the realization that this gang, the one that'd just tried to off them, was operating under Alpha's orders. While Maddie didn't quite grasp the full meaning behind that discovery, she'd paid enough attention to know that anything Alpha was behind was serious trouble.  
   
"So," Sierra finally said, crossing her arms. "What do we do?"  
   
"We'll stay here for the night, first of all," Whiskey said, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. "There's enough buildings in good enough condition to take shelter in, number one, and it's probably the safest place we'll be able to find for miles. We'll rest up and get an early start for tomorrow."  
   
"What about Alpha?" Victor asked.  
   
Whiskey flicked away her smoke. "Let me worry about Alpha. We still don't know yet what he's planning; there's no need to start working on a counter-plan just yet."  
   
Sierra opened her mouth as if to speak, but she abruptly closed it a moment later and went over to go help Victor, who was going through the pockets of the gang members who'd been gunned down, looking for money and cigarettes and whatever they could find. Maddie watched them for a few moments before going over to Whiskey, who was leaning against the Impala and picking at her nails with her knife. There was dried blood on the hilt; dark crimson and flaking.  
   
She leaned against the car next to Whiskey, pulling out her pack of smokes and fishing two out, one for each of them. She handed Whiskey's over wordlessly; Whiskey handed over her matchbook after she lit up. Maddie breathed in deeply, not even remembering the last time she'd craved a cigarette this badly. It felt like time had somehow skipped ahead, like it'd really been hours -- maybe days, even -- since last night. Last night, Whiskey pressed her to the bed and tied Maddie's hands together so she couldn't move, as her tongue slid over every inch and curve of Maddie's skin; now they were standing in the middle of Main Street, watching Victor and Sierra clean off dead bodies, splattered with blood, ears still ringing from all the gunshots. Last night they'd been safe; now Maddie realized that they weren't safe at all, that they never had been. That someone wanted to kill them all.  
   
It was fucked up. She said as much.  
   
Whiskey shrugged, said nothing. Maddie saw her toying with the cap to her flask of bourbon.  
   
"What are you going to do?" Maddie finally asked, as their cigarettes had burnt up and Victor and Sierra had begun dragging the bodies into the busted-up shop and piling them all there.  
   
"I don't know yet."  
   
There was something about the way she said it, the slightest hint of hesitation and uncertainty in her voice. There was something about the look in her eyes, usually dark and cold; Maddie saw the tiniest bit of _something_ flash across them. Maddie suddenly felt very anxious, filled with a kind of unknown fear; her stomach twisted into knots.  
   
Everything was fucked up.  
   
Maddie moved forward and kissed her. Whiskey didn't respond at first, just let herself be kissed, but after a moment, when Maddie's tongue brushed against her bottom lip, Whiskey seemed to snap back from wherever it was she had been, and she pushed back into the kiss, hands settling on Maddie's waist, fingers hooking into the belt loops on her jeans and pulling her in closer.  
   
"Stop," Whiskey said, after several long moments of kisses, pushing Maddie away. "I need to think about this, okay? I need to be alone." She bent down and tucked the knife back into her boot, before straightening with a resolved look on her face. "I'm going for a walk -- you head to the shelter. Tell Victor and Sierra to do the same once they've finished taking care of things."  
   
"When will you be back?"  
   
"Later," Whiskey called over her shoulder, already walking off.  
   
Resigned, Maddie went back to the shelter -- an old farmhouse that had definitely seen better days -- with Victor and Sierra, trailing behind her as they talked about Alpha and strategies and things Maddie didn't understand. She only wanted to know why all of this was happening, why they specifically had been targeted by Alpha to be killed; it didn't make sense to her, what they had done wrong. She briefly considered asking Victor and Sierra about it, but they still weren't on the best of terms, and Maddie thought that maybe the best thing to do would be to stay quiet and hope that she'd pick up pieces of the story here and there.  
   
Or maybe Whiskey would tell her, if she asked.  
   
At the house Maddie locked herself in the bathroom and stripped down, washing herself off in the sink with a washcloth and a tiny bar of soap, trying to scrub off all the dirt and sweat and blood; she'd never get used to it, the way blood stained her skin, how it got under her fingernails and was impossible to clean off entirely. The water was ice cold, but Maddie was glad for it anyway; the only running water nowadays was found in places that had wells for water supplies, instead of depending on the city water supply. It'd taken them almost three days to find a place with running water, but Whiskey said it was worth the wait and Maddie had to agree.  
   
She hadn't taken a proper bath or shower in ages, but hot water was a commodity that they couldn't afford, so they were forced to make do. As she dried herself off with a towel she found stashed away under the sink -- a bit dusty, but it worked well enough -- she wondered when Whiskey would be back. The irritating thing about Whiskey was that she would sometimes take off for hours, even days, just to be alone and think; Maddie never knew when to expect her back.  
   
And, more irritatingly so, Maddie always felt a stab of fear every time Whiskey took off, half-afraid that this would be the last time they would see each other again. She knew perfectly well that Whiskey could more than take care of herself, but the fear still lingered in the back of her mind.  
   
It'd been a while since she'd cared about anyone other than herself; it scared her a bit.  
   
She wondered if Whiskey felt the same -- convinced herself that she didn't.

   
;;

   
Even after spending a good couple of hours by herself, Whiskey still hadn't come up with a plan for what they were going to do next, a fact that was obvious from the way Whiskey kicked closed the door and snapped angrily at Victor for dozing off while on guard duty. Maddie was wide awake by the time Whiskey came into the room, looking tired and pissed off, still wearing her dirty and bloody clothes from before.  
   
When she saw Maddie sitting up in bed, she sighed. "I'm not in the mood," she said, kicking off her boots and tossing her coat over onto a chair.  
   
"That's alright."  
   
Whiskey sighed again and stripped down to just her undergarments, leaving a pile of clothes next to the bedroom door as she crossed the room and slipped lightly into bed beside Maddie, who let out a small squeak when Whiskey's cold feet brushed against her legs.  
   
Maddie wrapped her arms tightly around Whiskey, who was shivering a bit from the cold. She nosed the hair away from Whiskey's neck and pressed her lips lightly against the exposed skin of Whiskey's neck. Maddie expected some sort of reaction, especially when one of her hands dipped down a bit lower and she began to toy with the elastic of Whiskey's underpants, but Whiskey didn't move or speak at all.  
   
"You're bleeding," she said finally, when Maddie'd given up on trying to coax a reaction out of her and had just rolled away. At Whiskey's remark, Maddie's hand immediately went up to her arm, where the bullet had nicked her earlier. Victor'd made a half-assed attempt to bandage it up, but when she put her fingertips to the space where the wound was, she felt sticky gauze and her fingers came away wet.  
   
"So I am," she said, trying for indifference. "It's fine. It's just a little cut, that's all."  
   
"Little cuts can easily turn into something worse."  
   
"I'll be fine," Maddie assured her, already reaching for her pack of cigarettes on the night table, knowing Whiskey would want one in a moment or two. "Really. It barely hurts at all and the cut is really tiny -- the bandages are for show, mostly. There's nothing to worry about."  
   
Whiskey smirked and pulled her in gently for a kiss. "You know you should always heed a doctor's advice."  
   
"What kind of doctor smokes?" Maddie teased lightly, lighting a cigarette for each of them. She handed one over to Whiskey, who stared at it for a moment as if not knowing what to do; Maddie watched as she took a long, slow drag of it, a moment later blowing out smoke rings, the wispy circles drifting up towards the ceiling. "Come on," she said, after a minute. "Let's go outside."  
   
Whiskey got up wordlessly, crossing the room and holding her cigarette between her teeth as she re-dressed. Maddie, tugging on her tank top, looked over as Whiskey was pulling her belt tight on her jeans. She couldn't remember a time when Whiskey had seemed so small to her, but maybe it was just from this angle or the pale moonlight, which didn't quite extend far enough to reach the bedroom door.  
   
They passed Victor on the way out; he nodded at them.  
   
At the doorway, Whiskey paused to stretch. Maddie went to the other side of the street and crawled up onto a stonewall that was built along the border of a wide, grassy field. She stared out at the darkness until Whiskey came to sit beside her, the lit end of her cigarette glowing gold-red, almost burnt down to the end.  
   
There was a long pause and finally Whiskey said, "Do you want to know where I got these scars from?"  
   
Maddie looked down at her lighter, flicking the flame on and off. She looked back at Whiskey, who kept her eyes trained straight ahead, her mouth set in a hard grim line, her eyes darker than usual in the fading sunlight. "Yeah, alright," Maddie said finally. "Where did you get them from?"  
   
"Alpha."  
   
"Why?"  
   
Another long pause. "Because I made him angry," Whiskey said, folding her hands in her lap placidly. "When we first got together, it was just me, him, Victor, and Mike; I was the only girl good enough to have been picked, you see? Anyway, for a while things were fine between us -- I never trusted Alpha entirely, but that was sort of the point; you weren't supposed to ever really trust anyone. But we were all treated equally. And then this girl came along. Echo. Alpha found her, took a real fast liking to her. Only the thing was, Echo wasn't too fond of him -- she'd have never said it to his face, but it was obvious what was going on."  
   
"I don't understand," Maddie interrupted, pulling out a smoke and lighting herself one. "What does that have to do with you?"  
   
Whiskey rolled her eyes. "Just fucking _listen_. This Echo girl, she was really fucking pretty, you know? And, long story short, Alpha and I ended up competing for her affections -- she chose him, in the end. I don't know why, just that she did. Except, one day when we were out on an engagement together -- that's what Alpha called our assignments, said 'engagements' sounded more special; he was always big on superiority -- she let me know who her _real_ favorite was. More than once."  
   
Maddie exhaled slowly. "And Alpha found out, I'm guessing."  
   
"He flew into a rage, cut me with one of my very own scalpels. The bastard nicked it off me; he probably suspected something might happen sooner or later. I guess it was his way of punishing both me and Echo, you know; he may have figured Echo wouldn't find me so appealing anymore with a cut-up face. But I left after that and I took Victor and Sierra with me and the rest is fucking history."  
   
"That's terrible," Maddie said, after a time, flicking away what was left of her cigarette.  
   
"That's life," Whiskey shrugged. "But I haven't forgiven and I haven't forgotten and if I ever see that sonofabitch again, I'm going to cut his fucking throat and watching him bleed on the pavement. And that's a fucking promise."  
   
It wasn't really something Maddie thought she could reply to, so instead she just tapped out another two cigarettes and flicked open her lighter, taking a quick drag of one before passing the other over to Whiskey who didn't turn, just took the smoke and let it smolder between her fingers some before putting it to her lips and taking a long drag of it. Maddie turned, watched as Whiskey exhaled her mouthful of smoke a moment later, watched it float up into the now dark sky.  
   
Whiskey was damaged. Maddie thought maybe she loved Whiskey more because of it.  
   
After a bit of silence, she finally stubbed her cigarette out in the dirt and moved until she was sitting on top of Whiskey, settling down and straddling Whiskey's thighs. Whiskey glanced up at her bleary-eyed, before fixing her gaze straight forward again. There was a kind of distance between them that Maddie had never felt before; it felt heavy, like the sky was pressing down on her. She leaned forward and cupped Whiskey's face in her hands, kissing her lightly.  
   
Whiskey didn't move. Maddie felt a swell of disappointment as she pulled back, hands falling to Whiskey's shoulders.  
   
"I did love her, you know," Whiskey said at last, voice dull and flat. "She even told me her real name. Caroline. Good times never seemed so good." The last bit was punctuated with a rueful smile.  
   
"But she hurt you."  
   
"No." Whiskey shook her head. "That was Alpha's fault, not hers."  
   
Maddie squeezed Whiskey's shoulders, for the first time realized how bony they felt under her hands and wondered when it was that Whiskey'd gotten so thin. "If she really cared about you, she would be here, wouldn't she? She wouldn't have let Alpha do what he did to you, she wouldn't have let you _leave_ like you did." She leaned forward once more, kissed Whiskey's forehead. "I wouldn't have done that."  
   
"Don't compare yourself to her," Whiskey said, and her eyes flashed a bit with the sort of anger Maddie had come to expect, always just bubbling under the surface. "You're _not her_."  
   
"I'm not trying to be," Maddie told her, and this time Whiskey _did_ respond when Maddie kissed her again, this time full on the mouth, her arms sliding around Maddie's waist underneath her jacket, hands slipping up Maddie's shirt and settling heavily on her back. Maddie flinched, involuntarily; Whiskey's hands were ice cold.  
   
But then Whiskey was kissing her again, in earnest this time, and Maddie forgot all about it, especially when Whiskey's hands moved around to the front, pushing up her bra and covering Maddie's breasts with her palms, cupping them, fingers brushing against her nipples, hard from the touch and the cold. Maddie groaned, pressed into the touch, hips grinding slowly against Whiskey's own.  
   
"Here?" Maddie managed to gasp out and Whiskey grinned.  
   
"Of course here," she said, and moved them both to the ground, pinning Maddie beneath her with a rough kiss. Maddie arched up as Whiskey's hands slid down to her jeans, undoing her belt with one swift motion before taking care of the button and zipper as well, wriggling her hand inside.  
   
Fuck, Maddie thought, and then she didn't think anything at all for quite some time.

   
;;

 

They hit Maryland after a little over a week of traveling, stopping for two nights at a town called Creek Lake, just over the border between West Virginia and Maryland. Whiskey found them an abandoned shopping mall that was just off the interstate and though they heavily secured the exits once inside, no one was worried about there being any sort of real and present danger. The zombie plague had all but died down by this point; it wasn't a contagious disease anymore and most who had been infected had either been killed off or had died of their own accord.

There weren't any gangs around either, even though Victor and Sierra went around and did a preliminary sweep of the area regardless, just as a safety precaution. As Victor was quick to point out, there'd been very little gang activity ever on the East Coast; what gangs had been around the areas had cleared out years ago.

Sierra did a bit of exploring and discovered a generator in one of the rooms in the basement, but it only supplied power to the emergency lights in the mall. Maddie found this terribly annoying, especially when she discovered that almost everything in the electronics store she found relied on electrical power. Eventually she found a radio that ran on battery power as well, but it failed to pick up any signal at all, even after a fair bit of tinkering. Frustrated, she kicked it across the room, where it smashed into a display case advertising the newest models of phones from six years prior.

She heard a laugh and spun around, only to find Whiskey standing in the doorway, holding a cigarette and looking thoroughly amused.

"Why are you so interested in learning about what's going on out there?" she asked Maddie, who sighed and hoisted herself up on the service counter to sit down. "There isn't any good news to be heard anyway."

"I'm just curious, is all," Maddie told her. "It's been almost a full year since we first left Glen River. I want to know what's been going on with the rest of the world. Don't you?"

Whiskey shrugged, took a drag of her cigarette. "Like I said: no good news."

"Well, I think at this point, any news would be good news," Maddie picked at a price tag sticker on the counter. "It's been so long since we've heard anything -- I'd like to know what's being done about the plagues, if anything. I mean, hey, it's totally possible they've discovered a vaccine or whatever. You don't know."

"That hasn't happened." Whiskey exhaled a mouthful of smoke. "You know it hasn't."

"Yeah, well."

They lapsed into silence. Maddie jimmied the lock on the cash register, getting it open after a minute or two, but there was no money to be found. Whiskey walked along the aisle, looking at the rows of movies and CDs, whose covers had become faded and warped with age. Her boots left tracks in the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on the floor. Maddie watched her for a time, until Whiskey tossed her cigarette to the ground, crushed it out with her heel and came to sit beside her on the counter.

"Don't look so gloomy," Whiskey said, with a rare smile, cupping Maddie's face in her hands and kissing her chastely. "After all, you're supposed to be like, the fucking ray of sunshine or whatever in this group. Who else is going to be annoyingly optimistic if not you?"

Maddie rolled her eyes, but leaned forward and kissed her just a little bit harder.

"Do you ever wonder," Maddie began, pulling back some. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn't left Glen River?"

"We would have died," Whiskey said simply. "Glen River wasn't safe at all -- we would have gotten trapped there and we wouldn't have been able to fight our way out. It would have only been a matter of months, if that."

"Well, I meant like," Maddie and tucked her legs under herself. "What would have happened to _us_? You know, you and me."

Whiskey made an amused noise. "I don't know what you want me to say, but I can tell you that there wouldn't have been an _us_ , if we'd stayed in Glen River. Aside from the fact that, like I said, we would have died, it just wouldn't have worked out. I didn't know you at all."

"But we barely know each other at all now," Maddie pressed.

"It's not the same."

"How?"

"Oh, fucking hell, don't start with this," Whiskey groaned, pushing herself off the counter and getting out a cigarette. "I don't know what the fuck you're looking for here, Maddie, but I'm really not in the mood to argue with you right now. You and I _both_ know that if we'd stayed in Glen River, we'd never be where we are now -- and I don't mean sleeping over in a fucking shopping center, I mean _fucking_."

"Well, when you say it like _that_ \-- " Maddie interrupted, annoyed.

Whiskey shot her a look. "Oh, please, Maddie Costley. What else do you think this is?"

Maddie didn't respond, just gripped the side of the counter so hard that her knuckles turned white.

"Christ," Whiskey muttered, shaking her head, lighting her cigarette, puffing out smoke. "Fucking ridiculous, what I have to put up with sometimes."

It was too much.

"You know what, Whiskey?" Maddie climbed down off the counter, strode over to where Whiskey was standing. "I didn't _ask_ for you to rescue me. You're the one who busted in my door, all knight-in-shining-armor, and, as you've been quick to tell me hundreds of times before, saved me from certain death. So by all accounts, it was _you_ who wanted _me_. And that's what I don't get, because you're always going on and on about how you can't fucking stand to be around me."

"I like you just fine when you shut the hell _up_ ," Whiskey said, fixing her with a hard glare. "It's just that you're always talking bullshit and trying to -- I don't even know! Fucking piss me off, is what."

Maddie laughed, crossed her arms. "Why do I even bother with you? Really, what's the point?"

"Fuck off, Maddie."

"No, really," Maddie went on, jabbing a finger into Whiskey's chest. "Tell me. Why should I even give a fuck about you, Whiskey, when it's clear that you don't give a shit about me at all. Honestly, half the time I don't even know why I'm still _here_."

Whiskey threw her cigarette on the ground, crushing it out roughly with her boot. "Why don't you just fucking go, then? If you're so goddamn unhappy being here."

"It's not _that_ ," Maddie sighed, frustrated. "Don't you get it? I _want_ to be with you Whiskey, I do. But I don't want to fucking live like this, always running. I just want to find one place and fucking stay there. I hate having to always be on the move. I've spent a fucking _year_ with you Whiskey, you and Victor and Sierra, and I don't actually feel like I've ever gotten anywhere. We keep moving, but really, we're just standing still. Honestly, can you seriously say that we're better off now than we would have been in Glen River?"

"We're alive, aren't we?"

"Fuck off," Maddie said. "You know what I mean."

"No, I don't." Whiskey took a step towards her. "What _do_ you mean, Madeline?"

This was headed to a place that Maddie knew they couldn't come back from, but she couldn't stop herself. She was standing at the edge of a precipice, and she could only step forward, not back. Whiskey was glaring at her, arms crossed, and Maddie braced herself.

"What I mean is, _fuck you_ , Claire. Fuck you and fuck Alpha and fuck everything else, because you know what? None of it means a goddamn thing to me. I'm sick and tired of being like -- I don't even know -- your fucking lapdog and just following you around everywhere."

She turned to go, but Whiskey grabbed her by the jacket and whirled her around, looking more pissed off than Maddie had ever seen her before.

"You," Whiskey said, hand twisted in Maddie's shirt, pulling her in close. "You, Maddie Costley, are an ungrateful bitch, you know that? After all I've done for you -- put my fucking life on the line for you, had to put up with your bullshit, _defended_ you to Sierra and Victor -- and this is the way you feel?"

"Oh, good," Maddie said, not even caring any longer. "You're angry now. At least it means you fucking care about _something_ , even if it _is_ only yourself."

She saw it coming a mile away; Whiskey's fist came up and Maddie yanked away from her grasp, ducking, just narrowly missing getting hit. She lunged forward and tackled Whiskey, pinning her to the ground and landing a few decent punches. Whiskey shoved her off though, kicking out with her foot and catching Maddie in the shin. Maddie yelped in pain and stumbled back, and in a flash Whiskey was on her feet, striking Maddie with an uppercut to her jaw and knocking Maddie down to the ground.

Maddie collapsed to the ground with a wince and Whiskey was atop her a second later, landing one punch after another; she hit Maddie square in the face and Maddie heard a soft _crack_ ; another punch caught her on the side of her face, near her ear, and Maddie saw stars.

Too stunned to fight back, Maddie couldn't even gather enough strength to shove Whiskey off her, but almost as quickly as it began, it ended, Whiskey pulling back, dropping her bloody fists to her sides, panting. Maddie hurt all over; her left eye was swollen completely shut at this point, there was blood in her mouth, warm and thick and overpowering, and her leg throbbed from where Whiskey'd kicked her.

"I fucking hate you," Maddie spat out, turning and glaring at Whiskey with her good eye. "I really fuckin' do."

"Good," Whiskey grinned, showing teeth that were red with blood. "Because I fucking hate you too."

And then Whiskey bent down and kissed her, hard and full on the mouth, and it was all Maddie could do, to bring her arms around Whiskey and hold onto her for dear life. Whiskey tasted of blood and smoke and bourbon and Maddie broke away only long enough to catch her breath, before tangling her fingers in Whiskey's hair and yanking her back down away. She could feel Whiskey smiling into the kiss and it not only made her more angry but also sent a spark of arousal racing through her.

"I fucking love you," Whiskey mumbled against Maddie's neck, trailing sloppy kisses down the curve of it, hands going to her own belt, loosening it and her pants. Maddie's own jeans were undone a second later, and she gasped loudly as Whiskey pushed her hand down the front of them and her underpants, pressing two fingers roughly against Maddie's clit.

Maddie's hands slid around and up Whiskey's shirt, digging her nails into Whiskey's back for a moment and then working around to the front, cupping Whiskey's breasts through her bra, feeling the nipples harden through the thin material. It was enough, almost, to send her right over the edge right there, especially when Whiskey nipped at the place where her neck and collarbone met.

But she held on and they moved together clumsily on the floor -- more so when, after coming incredibly hard, Maddie slipped her hand down the front of Whiskey's jeans, stroking without a bit of grace, watching Whiskey, on hands and knees above her, arch into the touch, panting as Maddie worked to get her off. She came quickly, collapsing on top of Maddie with a sigh and crushing their lips together.  
   
"You know, what I said," Whiskey managed, after several long minutes as they both tried to catch their breath. "I meant it."

"Yeah, well, don't get all soppy on me about it," Maddie told her with a smirk, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Or you'll have to end up beating me up some more just to keep me from telling everyone you've gone soft."

"I really don't get it," Whiskey sat up, pulling out the obligatory post-coital cigarette and passing it over to Maddie once she'd had a bit of it. "You annoy the fuck of me, more often than not, but I still find myself caring about you. Drawn to you. I have this irresistible urge to protect you. And I don't know why that is."

Maddie handed the cigarette back. "Love doesn't always have to make sense, you know."

"I hope you're not going to try and pull that psychoanalytical bullshit on me." Whiskey exhaled a mouthful of smoke, turned and gave Maddie a flat, annoyed look. "Because it'll fuckin' ruin the mood."

"I won't do it unless you say it's okay," Maddie grinned at her, kissing her cheek.

"That'll be a first," Whiskey muttered, even as she pulled Maddie in for a proper kiss, dropping the cigarette and letting it burn itself up off to the side, forgotten.

 

;;

 

Victor looked them both up and down when they came back, looking beaten and bloody, but didn't say anything about it. Maddie was grateful for his silence, because she didn't really care to explain how they got this way, much less try to explain that the dark bruises forming on her neck were less from fighting and more from Whiskey biting down on her neck while her hand was down Maddie's pants getting her off.

Whiskey left to get changed and Maddie wandered off to find the bathrooms so she could get cleaned up. She ran into Sierra on her way there, who gave her a look identical to Victor's but also, thankfully, said nothing, just pointed Maddie in the right direction. In the bathroom, she managed to get a bit of hot water running, thanks to the mall's back-up generator. She washed her hands off in the sink, watching as the blood ran down along the porcelain, reddish-orange.

She wet a paper towel and wiped her face clean, taking care to avoid her swollen left eye and her split lip, which was still bleeding a little. Her nose was tender to the touch and most decidedly broken; she winced internally thinking about how she'd have to get it snapped back into place. She'd seen Whiskey do it to Sierra once, unable to look away, and it'd looked just horrid and painful.

Returning to the center of the mall near the food court, where everyone else was camped out in a mattress store, she found Victor, who was sorting out boxes of ammunition he'd taken from one of the shops down at the other end of the hall and explained the predicament about her nose. Before she could even move, he'd leaned forward, grabbed her head with one hand, and snapped her nose back into place with the other.

" _Fuck_!" Maddie shouted, wrenching out of his grasp and bringing her hand up to her face, teary-eyed. "You could have at least given me some sort of fucking warning, Jesus fucking Christ!"

Victor shrugged, smiled. "Best to just get it done with quickly, when you're not expecting it. Hurts less that way."  
"Christ," Maddie groaned, wiping at her eyes. "Fucking hell. Thank you, but, _fucking hell_."

"What's going on here?" Whiskey asked, coming to the front of the store, looking back and forward between Victor and Maddie.

"Just fixing a broken nose," Victor said, sitting back down with a pleased smile. "Maddie wasn't quite ready for the pain."

"She never is," Whiskey muttered, rolling her eyes, but she stepped forward anyway and pressed a kiss to Maddie's forehead. "Go be a good girl now and help Sierra, okay? She's putting together boxes of food that we can put in the Impala."

Maddie did as she was told and found Sierra in the back sitting on the floor surrounded by rows of canned goods. Maddie sat down across from her and helped her sort them out. They were quiet for a long time, until Sierra finally cleared her throat and asked the inevitable question.

"So, what happened to _you_?"

Maddie didn't look up, pretending to be very interested on the labeling on a can of peas. "Whiskey and I got into a fight."

"I can see that. Tell me, did you actually manage to get in a hit or two? Because from the looks of it, you just laid back quietly and let Whiskey beat the shit out of you. Your eye's a fuckin' mess, you know. Something that bad, it'll take at least a week to heal."

"Well, everything's sorted out just fine now, thank you, Sierra," Maddie said tersely, setting down a can rather roughly.

"I'll say," Sierra chuckled. "I bet you gave her a good seeing to afterward, yeah?"

Maddie didn't answer, but she could feel her face grow hot. Sierra laughed again.

"Christ, you did, didn't you? Fuck me, I didn't figure on you being one to like it all rough and angry -- I always thought you'd be the type to like it nice and sweet and slow and -- "

"That's enough, Sierra," Whiskey said behind them, suddenly. "I suggest you shut your mouth now, unless you're just as eager to discuss your own sex life as you are mine. I'm sure Victor would just love to -- "

"Oh, fuck off, Whiskey," Sierra said, flushing. "I was just having a bit of fun, that's all."

Maddie rolled her eyes, but was thankful for Whiskey's interruption.

Whiskey said, "Victor and I have been talking about what we're going to do tomorrow. Once you get everything sorted and boxed away, come to the front of the shop. We've already started making dinner, so it should be ready by the time you're done." She turned to leave, then stopped, turned back. "Oh, and, Sierra -- just because you're so curious to know: Maddie's a fucking marvelous lay."

"Christ, Whiskey," Maddie muttered, feeling her face grow hot once more, embarrassed. Leave it to Whiskey to both remedy an awkward conversation and then turn around and make it five times worse. Sierra burst out into laughter and for the rest of the evening while she and Maddie were taking care of the food, she kept glancing over and smiling in that way of hers that showed too much teeth and Maddie found rather unnerving.

Later, after dinner, Maddie cornered Whiskey near the front of the store, where she was checking through the windows to make sure the Impala was still there -- and intact.

"So," Maddie said, sticking her hands into her back pockets. "Are we all sorted out then? I mean, after what happened -- "

"If you say we're good," Whiskey said, "we're good."

It would have to do.

 

;;

 

"Well, this looks promising," Sierra muttered in a low voice, when they pulled up in front of a building marked _Rossum Center for Developmental Research_ the next morning. The sun was shining brightly overhead and already it'd gotten unbelievably warm out for late November, but the place itself looked dark and un-welcoming -- cold, almost. It gave off an odd vibe, as if they weren't meant to be there; even standing outside in the parking lot Maddie could feel it. Without even thinking she pulled out her gun, snapping the safety off.

Whiskey glanced over at her. "Put that away," she said, in an exasperated tone.

Maddie didn't.

The door to the research center was propped open, as if someone had been expecting them. It sent a rush of chills down Maddie's spine and she clutched her gun just a bit more tightly. This was just too odd. She felt better when out of the corner she saw Sierra nudge Victor and the two of them simultaneously pulled out their guns. Whiskey, ahead of them, was walking without a care in the world, hands stuffed into her pockets, whistling something softly to herself.  
   
There was no one to be found in the reception area -- the building was completely empty.

After doing a sweep of the first and second floors, Whiskey and the others moved down to the basement, which had clearly been used as a lab area. There were computers there, cold and black, beakers semi-full of clear or colored liquids, a centrifuge half-filled with small plastic vials, just waiting to be mixed. Everything looked as if whoever had been working on it had left it expecting to be back soon.

Everything sat there still and silent, staring at them and offering no answers as to what had happened, only questions.

"Well," Sierra said, as they surveyed the area. "I think it's a safe bet to say Bennett isn't here."  
   
"It's not right," Whiskey said, chomping down nervously on her cigarette. "She was supposed to be here. There must be something wrong -- something _must_ have happened. She wouldn't have just up and left. There were things she was working on, important things; she wouldn't have just let them go to waste."  
   
Victor scratched the back of his neck, dropping his arm to his side with a sigh. "So maybe something happened. But what? There's nothing here to suggest that she didn't leave willingly -- there's no sign of a struggle or anything of the sort. And from the looks of things, she's been gone quite a while; I can't imagine it wasn't something unplanned."  
   
Whiskey was on edge; it was obvious. This clearly wasn't going the way she'd assumed it would go. Maddie had never seen her like this before, so tense and agitated, looking almost, if Maddie didn't know better, like she was going to cry. Whiskey threw her cigarette furiously to the ground a moment later.  
   
" _Fuck_."  
   
"So what do we do now?" Sierra was already holstering her gun. "I hope you have a Plan B, Whiskey, because this sure as fuck didn't work out." She took out a cigarette, lit up, blowing smoke pointedly in Whiskey's direction.  
   
Maddie watched as Whiskey's hands balled into fists, as she set her jaw. She was working very hard to be calm and Maddie subconsciously took a step backwards, not at all liking the look on Whiskey's face. Even Victor had gone still. Whiskey sniffed and stepped towards Sierra, who instantly stiffened.  
   
"Do you want to tell me what your fucking problem is?" Whiskey asked her, in a dangerously low voice. "Because ever since Lansing you've been nothing short of a self-righteous bitch. So I'd like for you to either tell me what the fuck's going on or take the stick out of your ass and shut the hell up."  
   
"You want to know what my problem is?" Sierra sneered back, eyes narrowed. " _You're_ my fucking problem, Whiskey. You're so fucking obsessed with getting back at Alpha that you can't think about anything else. You fucking bring _her_ \-- " she jabbed a finger at Maddie " -- into our group, a totally useless bitch, and sure, you make a big show about who's boss here, but at night you're still crawling into bed with her. And we've spent a year driving cross-fucking-country and for what? So we can come to D.C. and hope that your good Ivy League buddy is still around to help us out? Because that panned out pretty fucking good, didn't it?"  
   
"You hate Alpha just as much as I do," Whiskey said evenly.  
   
Sierra laughed and shook her head. "No, see, that's where you're wrong, Whiskey. Because _I_ wasn't the one fucking his girl -- _you_ were."  
   
Whiskey's fist flew too fast for Sierra to react; Whiskey hit her square in the jaw, catching her off-guard and knocking her back a few feet. Sierra struck back instantly, her fist striking low and catching Whiskey in the stomach. Whiskey grunted and lunged forward; they instantly became a brawling, tangled mess on the floor, with Victor and Maddie looking on.  
   
Maddie saw Victor take a step forward and she straightened up, glaring at him. "Don't you fucking dare."  
   
"That's pretty big of you," Victor grinned, though there was nothing nice about it. "And sweet, too. Defending your girlfriend like that."  
   
"Fuck you."  
   
"Aw, no, come on now." Victor was teasing her now. "Is that really the best you can come up with? I would have expected more from you, given you're Whiskey's pet and all. But then again, Echo was the same way, all bark and no bite. I guess Whiskey just likes going for the dumb, weak ones, then."  
   
It was too far. Maddie jumped forward and swung at him, missing her mark completely and catching him on the shoulder. He barely flinched at the contact, just laughed at her attempt. The second time around, though, Maddie struck him on the neck, swinging forward angrily with as much force as she could put into it. He glared at her and took a swing of his own; Maddie ducked back and only just barely missed it.  
   
And then they were fighting too, right beside where Whiskey and Sierra were still having it out. Victor landed a few heavy punches to the side of Maddie's head that made her ears ring and her vision go blurry for a moment. But then she kicked up, hitting Victor in the shin, and he rolled off her. Maddie was on top of him in a second, whipping out her knife from where it'd been hidden in her boot and pressing it against his neck.  
   
"Hey now," Victor said, in a more subdued tone, and it was enough to get Whiskey and Sierra to both stop and look over at them. "Hey," Victor said, as Maddie straddled him, pushing the blade down a bit harder, enough so that it drew tiny drops of blood. "Relax, okay? You've won. Now let me up. Please."  
   
"Fuck you," Maddie panted, digging in the knife just a bit harder. "I get up and you kill me. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."  
   
Victor opened his mouth to speak, but Whiskey got there first.  
   
"No," she said quietly, shoving Sierra away. "Let him go. _Now_ ," she added in a harsh tone, when Maddie didn't movie. Maddie grudgingly got up, tucking her knife back away and glowering at Victor, who sat up, hands going up to his neck and wiping the blood away.  
   
"What the fuck?" Maddie asked, looking over at Whiskey. "He started it."  
   
"No," Whiskey said, climbing to her feet and brushing herself off. "It's my fault. And we're all acting like children because of it. I shouldn't have expected Bennett to still be here after five years; I should have thought ahead. But I didn't and now we've just made a trip across the States for nothing, time that could have been spent doing better things."  
   
Sierra cleared her throat. "I suppose I was wrong too," she admittedly guiltily after a long moment. "Or at least -- I don't know. It was stupid. You're the one who convinced Alpha to take me in, back when I was still just a child, and I should have -- well, I should have had more faith in you."  
   
Whiskey snorted. "Don't get all sappy on me now, Sierra. But, if we're all quite finished," she looked around the room; Maddie rubbed her bruised arm tenderly, "I believe that there's some place we need to be getting to."  
   
"Where's that?" Maddie asked.  
   
"Home."

;;

 

Home turned out to be Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, as Sierra explained to Maddie when they were in the car pulling on to the highway (and all in much better spirits than before; the scuffles had done wonders) was where Alpha's home base was. He and his gang roamed a lot, mostly around lower California and the surrounding state areas, but their stronghold was in LA. It was, according to Sierra, underground, in the completely literal sense; it was a huge living area built underneath a skyscraper -- it was actually fairly genius, as Whiskey pointed out (a bit sourly), since no one would think to look for a gang in a place like that. Plus, it was virtually impenetrable, given its location, and the fact that the only way in or out was via a single key-coded elevator.

"Wait, hang on," Maddie said, putting up a hand to stop them. "If Alpha pretty much can't be touched, why the fuck are we going after him?"

"We're not going to _him_ ," Whiskey said. "We're going to make _him_ come to _us_. We'd be fucking fools to even think about trying to attack Alpha on his home turf. But if we can draw him out in the open, or, at best, get him on our own territory, then we'll actually have a shot at taking him down. But Alpha's not an idiot; he won't come out here to get at us. So we have to get to Los Angeles and tempt him a little."

Maddie was quiet for a moment. Then, "But what if we don't succeed? I mean, what if -- if Alpha wins."

"Come on, Maddie," Whiskey said, glancing over her shoulder with a rueful smile. "Surely you already know."

 

;;

   
The trip from D.C. back to Los Angeles felt infinitely shorter, by comparison. In truth, it was probably because it _was_ shorter. There was no time to stop at safe houses or the need to avoid zombie infestations. And now that they knew which areas held rival gangs, they knew how to go around them. Whiskey and Victor took turns driving for nearly four days straight, cutting right across the country along the major turnpikes, and it was only once they'd gotten to a suburb near Topeka did Sierra lightly suggest that they ought to take a break for a day.

As soon as Whiskey'd laid down on the dusty couch in the living room, she'd fallen right asleep. Maddie told Sierra and Victor that she'd take guard duty for the night, mostly because she wanted to sit with Whiskey and make sure she'd be okay. The past few days she had barely said a word to anyone at all -- at one point she'd given Maddie a weary smile and gently squeezed Maddie's hand and it had been so uncharacteristically sweet that Maddie was half-convinced for about a day that something was terribly wrong.

She sat at the foot of the couch, leaning back against it all night, dismantling her gun and then putting it back together again. At one point, around two o'clock, Whiskey stirred slightly, reaching out to tousle Maddie's hair, the corners of her mouth turned up just the smallest bit.

"Madeline," she sighed, and Maddie kissed her palm until Whiskey drifted back to sleep again.

Maddie woke up the next morning, cramped and cold and realized, after a moment, that she'd fallen asleep on the floor next to the couch. Well, that was good, falling asleep when she was supposed to be on guard duty. Sitting up, she saw that Whiskey was gone -- it was only the heavy _clomping_ of Whiskey's boots that alerted Maddie to the fact that she was in the kitchen. She stood up with a groan, brushing herself off and stretching, some of her joints popping as she did so.

Whiskey was sitting at the kitchen table, which was wobbly from one leg being shorter than the other three. She had her gun out and was counting out bullets, lips moving silently. She looked up when Maddie came in.

"You fell asleep," she said, as Maddie leaned against the doorway, rubbing at her eyes.

"Yeah," Maddie said. "Sorry about that."

Whiskey began loading her gun. "It's fine -- I didn't sleep that long, anyway. I was up when I saw you drifting off, decided it would be better to let you get some rest." She looked up again, met Maddie's gaze. "You don't have to look out for me, you know. I don't need protecting."

"I know that." Maddie slipped into a seat across from her. "It's just sometimes, I -- it doesn't matter." She waved her had dismissively; Whiskey didn't press the issue. "Where's Victor and Sierra?"

"Outside, doing fuck all." Whiskey spun the chamber, snapped the Colt shut, with a slight smile. "Come here," she said, grabbing Maddie by the front of her shirt and pulling her in roughly, evening it out with a kiss that was gentler than Maddie was used to. Whiskey was in a playful mood, Maddie could tell. It was nice; Whiskey usually wasn't the most fun person to be around, even on her best of days, but when her mood was good, she could be very charming.

Maddie didn't see this side of her very often. She took advantage of it, pressing their lips together once more, rougher this time, more needy.

They ended up fucking upstairs, just barely even being able to make it up there, with Maddie's hands up Whiskey's shirt and Whiskey's fingers undoing the buckle and button and zipper on Maddie's jeans. They came together rough and fast and hard, like their last time together hadn't been for ages. There was an intensity about it that almost scared Maddie; it made her heart leap up to her throat and stole all the oxygen from the from, so her chest constricted and she felt like she couldn't breathe.

Whiskey didn't say that she loved her, but she'd said it before, and Maddie supposed once was good enough.

Two days later and they were on the outskirts of Los Angeles. From the highway they could see the looming of skyscrapers, still standing tall and strong, even if forgotten. Maddie felt a tiny pang of nostalgia at the sight; it'd been six long years since she'd been home and it'd _felt_ like even longer. She wondered if her old home was still standing, then felt foolish for even wondering -- of course it still would be, unless there'd been a fucking earthquake tearing the place up (and she would have heard about that anyway).

"Hey, kid," Sierra said, just as they came into the city. "You used to live here, right?"

"Yeah," Maddie said, not even bothering to tell her off for calling her a kid. "I did."

As it turned out, the hard part was finding a place to stay. It couldn't be too close to Alpha's gang's home base, but at the same time, it couldn't be too far away either. Whiskey finally settled on a small, neat looking colonial about a half hour or so's drive from where Alpha was stationed. The street was still in the city, but it had more of a suburban feel to it, and just walking up to the front door was enough to remind Maddie of home.

All the things she'd taken for granted, then. Her parents, her siblings. Julia.

"Come on," Victor called to her, already inside the house. "Move your ass. We need to board the place up before nightfall. Get it as secure as possible."

"Does Alpha even know we're here?" Maddie asked Whiskey, when they were taking apart the cabinets so they could nail them across the windows.

"I _hope_ he doesn't," Whiskey said, through gritted teeth, as she wrenched the hinge off. "But he's Alpha. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew we were coming the second we left D.C. It's what he wanted, of course, and I'd bet fucking money that he's had spies out for a while now, just waiting for us to roll into town."

Maddie sighed, pushing her bangs away from her eyes. "We're fucked, aren't we?"

"Not quite." Whiskey finished with the cabinet, got started on another. "Just because Alpha knows my hand, doesn't mean I haven't got an ace up my sleeve."

"Do you? Have an ace up your sleeve?"

Whiskey flashed her a grin. "That's for me to know and you to find out."


	5. Chapter 5

Maddie was the first one to see them.

"There's three guys outside," she said, staring through the cracks in the boards on the front window.

Whiskey's head snapped up. "What?"

"They're just standing there," Maddie went on, watching them. They were standing in a circle on the lawn of the house across the street, talking amongst themselves. Their packs lay a few feet away, alongside their coats. Maddie couldn't see anyone else in sight, nor could she see a car, which didn't quite make sense.

"What do they look like?" Whiskey came to stand beside her, peering out the cracks as well. "Move over, I can't look with you crowding me."

Maddie backed off, watched her.

Whiskey stepped away a moment later. "Are you armed?" she asked Maddie.

Maddie nodded.

"Good," Whiskey said in a terse voice. "Go get Victor and Sierra. Tell them we have visitors."

Victor and Sierra were coming down the stairs, when Maddie ran into them.

"So you know, then?" Maddie asked.

"We saw them from upstairs," Victor told her, as the three of them made their way back into the living room, where Whiskey was back at the window, keeping watch. "You know who it is, don't you, Whiskey?"

"Our old friends," Whiskey turned to them, Colt already in hand. "Mike. Hotel. Charlie. The question is -- what are they doing here? Because if they had wanted to attack us, they wouldn't be standing out there in plain sight. Which means -- have you done a sweep of the house?"

"We haven't seen anyone, Whiskey," Sierra said. "We only just went upstairs a moment ago -- we didn't see or hear anything either upstairs or down here. I know what you're thinking, but there's no way anyone could have slipped past us."

"Unless -- "

There was the sharp _pop_ of gunfire and Maddie flinched, even as the bullets were stopped by the boards. The shooting continued for a moment, hitting the boards with a dull _thud_ , and then, just as abruptly as it began, it stopped. Whiskey stepped forward, ventured a look out the window.

"I don't know what the fuck it is they're playing at," she growled, nervously toying with the handle of her knife. "They _know_ , they won't be able to get through this, so why are they wasting their bullets?"

There was silence for a moment, the air thick with tension.

"You," Whiskey finally said, pointing at Victor and Sierra. "Go check upstairs. Make sure their little fucking display of firepower wasn't an attempt to distract us from someone else trying to get in. And you," she continued, now pointing at Maddie, "go check and make sure they haven't sent someone 'round the back."

"Are you -- " Maddie began.

"Shut the fuck up, Maddie," Whiskey snapped, giving her a push in the direction of the kitchen. "Just _do_ it."

Maddie exchanged looks with Victor and Sierra, watched as they headed towards the stairs. She went in the opposite direction, moving towards the back of the house. She had her gun out, though she was praying that she wouldn't be given an opportunity to make use of it, because all in all, she was a pretty lousy shot, and she really didn't feel like dying today.

There was a girl standing in the kitchen. She turned when Maddie came in. She had shoulder length blond hair and was wearing dusty, torn clothes, and a long, dark jacket. She also had a gun, which she was brandishing at Maddie.

"Hello, Madeline," the girl said, grinning, and Maddie felt her heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Whiskey -- " Maddie started, just before she felt a sharp flash of pain on the back of her head and the world went black.

   
;;

   
Maddie opened her eyes.  
   
She was lying in a hospital bed; that was the first thing she knew. The second was that her head ached something awful. The third was that she was incredibly tired, as if somehow every ounce of energy in her body had just been sucked right out of her. She tried to move and every part of her body felt heavy and dull, like she'd just come back from running a marathon or something like that. There was an IV drip connected to her hand; the thin, clear piping snaked across the bed and over to where a bag sat on one of the metal coat-racks used for such things.  
   
"Hello there," a voice said, and Maddie turned her head in the direction it'd come from.  
   
A girl -- woman -- was standing over in the corner with her arms crossed. She smiled when Maddie's eyes met hers.  
   
The woman had longish dark hair that fell in gentle waves down her back and over her shoulders. Her eyes were a soft brown color and she was tanned, like she usually spent a lot of time out in the sun. Her mouth was turned up into a smile, but there was an edge to her that Maddie could just _sense_ , and it made her uneasy. She had a tattoo on her wrist; some symbol that Maddie remembered from school long ago but couldn't recall the meaning of just now. Dressed in dark blue jeans and a fitted tank-top, Maddie took note of how, despite the girl's small frame, she was solidly built, her arms slender and muscled.  
   
When Maddie tried to sit up, her head spun wildly and her stomach lurched violently. It felt like being drunk, except ten times worse. She didn't know what had happened, how she'd gotten like this. All she knew was that her head ached something awful and she was lying in a bed in a place she didn't recognize.  
   
"Where am I?" she managed to croak out, her mouth and throat dry.  
   
"You're safe," the girl said, which did little to actually answer Maddie's question. The girl moved forward and sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her. "You took a nasty blow to the head. You were bleeding out all over the place; lucky William was there to stitch you back up again. You're okay now, but you'll probably still be a bit weak for the next couple of days while you're recovering."  
   
Maddie reached up and touched her head; she felt bandages wrapped around it. There was a small sticky spot off the side; when she pulled her hand away there was blood on her fingertips. She stared at it for a moment before turning back to the girl, wiping her hand on her sheets. "Who are you?"  
   
The girl's smile was almost too sincere, too charming. "You can call me Omega."  
   
"Oh, so you're -- " Maddie began and then snapped her mouth shut. The girl gave her a curious look. Maddie swallowed and started again. "Omega? That's an interesting name. What does it mean?"  
   
"'The end,'" Omega said, not missing a beat. "Death."  
   
"Oh," Maddie said simply, working very hard to keep a straight face. Then, "So, are there more people here? Aside from you and me, I mean. You mentioned a man -- "  
   
"He's away right now," Omega said. "But there are others here, yes. We're a group of five, you see. Everyone's very nice; you can meet them tomorrow, once you've rested up some more."  
   
"Okay."  
   
Omega patted Maddie's leg and then stood up, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. For half a second Maddie was reminded of Whiskey, and suddenly her mind went in a thousand different directions at once. Where was Whiskey? Were she and Victor and Sierra out looking for her right now? Were they even alive? The thought of Whiskey lying face up in the dirt, bleeding out somewhere unknown sent a spark of renewed fear through her. No, it wasn't possible; it couldn't happen.  
   
She forced herself not to think about things like that. What she needed to do right now was to figure out where she was and decide how she was going to get out as soon as possible. Maddie didn't trust Omega in the least; she knew better than to do that. But she couldn't let it show -- she knew that as well. It was best to let Omega -- and whoever else was here -- think that she wanted to be here, that she was grateful that she'd been helped. It was the only way she could ensure that she'd get out of this place in one piece, let alone alive.  
   
They must be giving her sedatives, Maddie thought as she stifled a yawn, feeling drowsy again. She didn't know if it was because they actually wanted her to get better or if it was for some other reason, but she figured at this point it didn't matter. Until she'd healed up some more, she was absolutely useless. But once she was better, she'd need to start --  
   
She must have fallen asleep, was her first thought, because when she opened her eyes it was a lot brighter out than it had been before, and her head wasn't aching quite as much now. The second thing she noticed was that Omega was back in her room, only this time she wasn't alone: a man with sandy blond hair, cut cropped close to his head, was talking to Omega in a hushed voice, arms crossed across his chest. Without even getting a good look at him Maddie could tell that he was no one to fuck with, from the hard set of his jaw and the darkness of his eyes.  
   
It reminded her some of Whiskey, almost, and again she was reminded of what she had to do.  
   
Maddie pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her head didn't spin like last time, but her muscles were cramped and sore and she couldn't help but let out a groan as she stretched them. Omega and the man stopped talking and looked over at her; a smile instantly broke out across Omega's face and she crossed the room to the bed.  
   
"Well, you look like you're feeling better."  
   
"Yeah," Maddie said, stretching out her arms as well. "I am."  
   
"Oh, this is William, by the way," Omega said, motioning to the man who now stood beside her. "You remember -- he's the one who stitched you up?"  
   
"Thanks," Maddie said, trying to sound as weak as possible. "I heard that you saved my life. I suppose I'm in your debt now."  
   
William laughed. "Don't be ridiculous."  
   
Maddie wasn't quite up to telling him it'd been a joke.  
   
"I suppose Omega told you about what happened to you," William said, glancing over quickly at Omega before turning back to Maddie with a smile. "Seems you got whacked on the head pretty badly. It's going to take a while to heal."  
   
"So, when can I go home?"  
   
William laughed again, but there was something in it that Maddie didn't like. His smile seemed a bit too sincere -- and anyway, why were they helping her? She didn't know any of them and, as far as she knew, they didn't know her. Whiskey hadn't named her yet and everyone who knew she was running with Whiskey's gang was dead. And she seriously doubted that William had taken her in because he'd heard she was something of a car thief. The whole thing was very suspicious and Maddie didn't like it one bit.  
   
When William put his hand on her wrist, it took every last ounce of her willpower to not yank her hand away. Instead, when he smiled at her, she offered one back, forcing herself to seem as sincere as possible. After all, they had just saved her fucking life -- she could at least pretend to be grateful for it.  
   
Omega stepped forward. "We'll leave you alone now," she said, eyes flicking over at William for a second. "You're not better yet, not by a long shot. You need to sleep."  
   
"I'm fine," Maddie protested weakly, suddenly feeling tired as she said it. "Really, it -- it's okay."  
   
"Trust her," William said, his smile showing a bit too much teeth. "She knows what she's talking about."  
   
"Well, I suppose," Maddie started, and William took his hand away from her wrist and patted her on the head like she was in fucking grade-school or something. "I guess I'll just get some sleep then," Maddie continued on lamely, as William went over to where Omega was, putting a hand on her shoulder and whispering something briefly in her ear. Maddie strained to hear what they were saying, but had no luck.  
   
Omega gave her a thin smile as she and William turned to leave. Maddie smiled back at her.  
   
It wasn't until they'd actually left that Maddie realized she'd been holding her breath, exhaling with a heavy sigh. This was no good; she had to get out of here. There was definitely something up and she couldn't shake the feeling that it had to do with her in some way. For the first time since she could remember, she fervently wished that Whiskey was here to help her sort it all out. Whiskey would have grumbled her way through the whole thing, of course, would have told Maddie she was completely incompetent about everything, but at least she would have gotten to the bottom of things.  
   
As it was, Maddie had no idea where Whiskey was. She was sure Whiskey was out there looking for her -- she _had_ to be -- and she knew that really the best thing to do would be to stay put, but she wanted out, and she wanted out now. Surely, Maddie thought, they'd be able to find each other more quickly if they were both out there looking. But as she pushed herself back up into a sitting position, her stomach did a flip-flop and her head spun. With a groan she lay back down, closing her eyes and waiting for her brief bout of nausea to pass. This was more than a bump on the head -- Maddie knew there was something seriously wrong.  
   
Again Maddie felt a pang of longing -- if only Whiskey were here right now.  
   
It was settled then; Maddie had to find a way to escape. The problem, as she saw it, wasn't so much _escaping_ , as it was figuring out what to do after that. She had zero means with which to contact Whiskey and visa versa. She had no money, no food, no water, no car, nothing. If -- when -- she managed to escape, she'd be a sitting duck, just waiting for some gang to find her. That wouldn't do. So of course the only logical course of action, Maddie thought with a heavy heart, was to stay right where she was.  
   
But, she then decided, it could work out to her advantage. She'd be taken care of until she was better (or until they were ready to let her go) and by that time she'd have worked out what she was going to do in terms of finding Whiskey and surviving (though not necessarily in that order). Maybe she wouldn't even have to wait that long; maybe she if just bided her time, it'd be long enough for Whiskey to find her. So really, sitting around and waiting, however much it pained her to think about it, actually seemed like the best course of action at this point.  
   
As Maddie stared out the small window near the ceiling, her only glimpse of the outside world, watching as the sun set for the day, she thought about Whiskey and what she was doing right now. She could imagine Whiskey pacing around in a circle, agitated, wanting not to stop, but to keep searching. Keep _hoping_. And she could just as well imagine a Whiskey who was dozing off in the passenger's side of the Impala, glad to be rid of such a nuisance. Both were completely likely, but Maddie drifted off to sleep thinking about a Whiskey who cared, a Whiskey who would do anything to find her.  
   
It was a small comfort, but it was all she had.

   
;;

   
She slept for days after that. Every now and then she would wake up for a moment or two to see someone hovering over her -- sometimes William, sometimes Omega, sometimes other people she didn't recognize, one in particular being a girl with long dark hair and pale skin who Maddie originally mistook for Whiskey the first time she woke up and saw the woman standing there watching her.  
   
She dreamt of nothing, usually. When she did dream, the colors in her mind were too bright and hurt her eyes, as brief snippets of memories flashed by. She dreamt of Whiskey cutting open a man's throat, the blood spraying everywhere; Maddie held her hands under an icy stream of water and tried to clean them off, but the more she scrubbed, the rawer her skin became and still the blood did not wash off. She dreamt of Whiskey reclining in bed, jeans open and unbuttoned, while a cigarette was held lazily between her pursued lips, smoke drifting up in small, wispy curls.  
   
Always she awoke in a panic, her sheets and bangs sticking to her sweaty skin. Always her head was pounding with a headache so horrible that it was amazing that she could fall back asleep an instant later. And so the cycle repeated itself, over and over again, until Maddie was certain she was going to be driven mad by her own mind.  
   
And then suddenly, those dreams stopped and were replaced by happier ones; Maddie, sitting in a field of gold and green and blue flowers, staring up at a cloudless, baby blue sky; Whiskey, next to her, asleep on the grass, her hair down and spilling around her shoulders. When Maddie ran her fingers through it, laughing, it felt like silk.  
   
"Hello Maddie," a voice said, and Maddie snapped awake.  
   
"Oh," she mumbled, still being able to feel Whiskey's hair against her skin, still able to smell the flowers, sickly sweet. They had smelt like lilacs, though that couldn't have been possible. "Oh," she said again, trying to clear her head. "Where am I?"  
   
"You're here. With us," the woman said and when Maddie looked around, she saw that Omega and William were standing nearby, watching her. Her heart sank instantly; for a moment she was almost certain that things had changed, that she'd somehow managed to find her way out of this place.  
   
"We'll need to monitor you for a bit longer," the woman was saying, but Maddie didn't care. She just wanted to find Whiskey.  
   
She began to cry, despite herself.  
   
"Oh," Omega said quietly from the doorway, as if she'd never seen anyone cry before. "Oh -- is she okay?"  
   
"She's fine," the woman with dark hair said, looking at a manila folder full of graphs and charts and hand-written documents. "She's just in a state of stress right now. Very stressed. I told -- I told you to go easy on her; she's not going to be able to handle it all at once. It will be bad if you push her."

She had a strange halting way of speaking. Her tone was soft, almost dream-like, but there was a cold undertone to it that put Maddie on guard.  
   
"It's taking too long," William snapped, agitated. "You told us that you could do it, Bennett. You said that it was easy."  
   
Bennett, Maddie thought. She knew that name from somewhere. It seemed so familiar to her.  
   
"I can and it is," Bennett said, pushing her hair away from her face, unfazed. "But these things -- they take time. This is a complicated procedure, William. Rather complicated indeed. We need to handle it delicately. You wouldn't want to have to get rid of the girl for being a failure after you went through so much trouble to acquire her in the first place now, would you? I need patience. It will get done. You'll see."  
   
Omega had been standing silently in the doorway during the whole exchange. She put a hand on William's shoulder; he turned and looked at her. "Is this really a conversation you want to be having in front of the girl?" Omega asked, looking pointedly at Maddie before fixing her gaze on Bennett. "You'll have to wipe her."  
   
"No," Bennett said, snapping her folder shut. "I will do no such thing -- it'll ruin the whole procedure. That would be most undesirable. Anyway," she added, with a glance in Maddie's direction, "it won't matter in the long run. Nobody will believe her. No one at all. Never ever. And even if they do, they won't be able to help her. She's ours now. Ours, ours. ours."  
   
Maddie sniffled. Her head was aching something fierce and her mouth felt terribly dry. She was about to ask for water when suddenly Bennett was filling a syringe and plunging it into Maddie's arm. Immediately her eyelids grew heavy and Maddie could barely help herself from yawning and flopping back down on her pillow.  
   
As the world began to grow dark, she could hear Bennett and William heatedly exchanging words. For the hundredth time she wished that Whiskey was here. Whiskey would know what they were talking about, would know how to help her and keep her head from hurting. Where was Whiskey? Maddie needed her. Maddie didn't know what to do; she was completely lost.

   
;;

 

Two weeks later, Omega and William said she was well enough to get up and do a bit of exercising, so that was exactly what Maddie did. Every muscle in her body ached and her arms and legs felt like they were filled with lead. Even basic stretching was a task; she winced as she flexed her calf muscle. Her head still ached dully, as usual, but she ignored it, focusing on trying to get her body working correctly again.

She was in the middle of stretching out her lower back when a man with sandy blond hair came into the exercise room, wearing hospital scrubs for pants and a navy t-shirt. At first glance, he looked a little bit like Topher, who Maddie had only seen a few times in her life and talked to even less, but he was a bit more muscular, with broader shoulders and shorter hair. He also had brown eyes, to Topher's blue-green.

"Hello," he said, sitting down next to her. "Are you Bennett's new pet project?"

"Um," Maddie said, feeling disoriented. "Um, I'm not sure."

"I'm Mike," he said, extending his hand out to her. Maddie shook it lightly, trying to remember why the name Mike seemed so familiar to her -- well of course it seemed familiar, she told herself, given that it was a popular name. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was meant to know something, that there was a Mike out there who was not at all good news.

It didn't come to her, though, and so she sat next to him while he stretched and showed her better things she could be doing to re-train her muscles after being stagnant for nearly three weeks now. They sat there for about an hour, talking, but not really talking about anything important. Mike asked her how old she was, where she was from, the sort of things that Maddie didn't mind answering, because none of that stuff was important anymore.

On her way out, she passed a woman with red-gold hair who looked at her curiously but didn't say anything. Maddie heard her and Mike talking as she walked off, surprised when she heard them speaking French instead of English. The only word she could make out was "Tango," and she wasn't sure if it was the girl's name or just a reference to something else. She headed back to her room, crawling back into her bed, suddenly feeling quite exhausted.

"Hello," a voice said beside her and Maddie jumped; she hadn't even realized anyone else was in the room.

Bennett had just stepped out from behind one of the short rows of curtains off to the side, which Maddie used when changing. Maddie let out a sigh, gripping the sheets.

"Fuck, you scared me."

"Yes, I did. Sorry." Bennett gave her a smile that looked half-way sincere. It was the first time Maddie had seen her with clear eyes, and she couldn't help but notice that one of Bennett's arms was in a sling, tied firmly against her waist, hand covered in a long black glove that ran up to her elbow, meeting her sleeve, which was neatly rolled up. "Your charts," Bennett went on, "I wanted to check them. I wanted to see how you're doing today."

"I'm fine," Maddie lied. "Can you please tell William that I'm better? I want to leave now. I want to go home." Bennett made to check her heart rate and Maddie dutifully lifted her arm so that the cuff could be wrapped around her arm. "Please," Maddie continued, "can't you just tell him that?"

Bennett shook her head. "That isn't what I do. I do the science aspect. William tells you when to leave. He wants you to rest right now. Rest. You aren't at your best -- he wants to keep you here. He won't send you out -- let you go. You could be injured again. It's quite possible. Or killed. It would be most unfortunate. He's just looking out for you."

"But I'm _fine_ ," Maddie insisted, getting irritated now.

"You can't leave yet," Bennett said, in an unusually sharp voice, her eyes flashing. She scribbled something down furiously in her charts, looked Maddie over once more, and left.

Maddie sighed, slumping against her pillows.

It was probably hours later, but it felt only like minutes, when William came into the room, Omega trailing behind him as usual. Maddie had been dozing on and off, but when William appeared she snapped awake, pushing herself into more of a sitting position, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello. I thought I'd check up on you."

"Bennett was just here," Maddie informed him coolly.

William gave her a smile that made her want to shiver. "Yes, but Bennett is a doctor. And we look for different things."

Maddie wanted to ask when he was looking for, then promptly decided against it.

Omega stepped forward and mumbled something to William. They both looked at Maddie. Maddie kept her face perfectly blank.

"Yes, you're right," William said to Omega, still staring at Maddie. "She _is_ looking much better."

He reached over and patted Maddie on the shoulder. As he did, the cuff of his sleeve rode up and Maddie saw a tattoo on the inside of his wrist that made her heart leap to her throat. She would have recognized it anywhere; it was the same tattoo she'd seen on Six's wrist, back in Pennsylvania. It was Alpha's mark.

And suddenly everything fell into place.

She forced herself to keep on smiling, pretending as if she'd never seen the tattoo. When William asked her how she was feeling, she said that she was a lot better, but she still tiring very quickly and that her headache refused to go away, no matter what she did or what medicine Bennett gave her.

"You'll be fine very soon," William told her.

The moment she was alone again, Maddie began to plot how she was going to escape. She remembered what Whiskey and Sierra had said after Alpha's home base, about how it was nearly impenetrable due to it only having one exit and entrance -- the elevator. It was key-coded; Maddie knew instantly that the only thing she could do was try and steal a key-card from someone and hope she could sneak out without anyone noticing her.

But that would be impossible. The elevator was right fucking _there_ , in the middle of the goddamn building, and Maddie's room was all the way on the other side. She'd never be able to just slip away -- not without everyone noticing her. And she knew that at night it would be no better, since there was always a guard on duty, one of Alpha's gang roaming around to make sure things were okay.

It was hopeless.

 

;;

 

In the end, she didn't even need to escape, because Alpha let her go.

Well, not so much let her go as drugged her and dropped her off in front of where Whiskey, Victor, and Sierra had taken shelter for the time being -- a fact which Maddie found both impressive and incredibly disturbing. She'd awoken to Sierra nudging her cautiously in the side with the toe of her boot and Whiskey staring down at her with a worried expression on her face.

"Oh, fucking Christ," Whiskey sighed in relief. "I was half-afraid that you were dead. What the fuck happened to you? Where the hell have you been? Christ Almighty, I've been fucking _worried_ about you."

"She has," Sierra said, as Maddie sat up dizzily, holding her head. "We haven't been able to get more than three hours of sleep a night since you vanished -- she kept us out doing searches for you."

"Alpha," Maddie croaked out, her throat dry and cracked.

Everyone stiffened instantly.

"What?" Whiskey asked, crouching down beside her. "What _about_ Alpha, Maddie?"

"That's where I've been." Maddie explained hoarsely, coughing a bit. Victor went off into the house and came back a moment later with one of the canteens, handing it over silently. Maddie took several large gulps, exhaling with a sigh and wiping her mouth on her sleeve; it felt like she hadn't had something to drink in forever. And whatever Alpha'd given her a shot of had been strong; she still felt woozy.

"Come on now, Maddie, steady on," Whiskey said, catching her as she swooned a bit, grabbing Maddie under her arms and pulling up onto her feet. "Let's get you inside, yeah? We'll get you lying down and then you can explain to us where you were and what happened. And about Alpha, too," she added, in a softer voice.

She set Maddie down on the couch in the living room while Sierra went into the kitchen and fetched them all chairs; they all sat down around Maddie in a semi-circle, staring at her intently, waiting.

"Well?" Whiskey prompted, after a moment. "Tell us everything."

Maddie did. She told them about how after she'd gotten hit over the head she'd woken up in a strange place with hardly any windows, except for a few tiny ones high on the ceiling. She talked about Omega, who had been there when she'd woken up and had been the last one she'd seen before she'd been drugged by Alpha. She went on about Mike and Tango, who had been pleasant to her.

And she talked about Alpha, who was never identified by either himself or the others, always referred to as William, how he and a long-haired, mousy sort of doctor named Bennett had always been in her room, watching her. Whiskey visibly stiffened at the mention of Bennett's name, and Sierra'd stared at her pointedly for a good two minutes after that. When Maddie finally finished, with a heavy sigh and another gulp of water, the room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

"Bennett?" Whiskey asked finally, after some time. "Are you sure that's what the woman's name was? Absolutely fucking _positive_."

"It _was_. Everyone called her that. And she -- she had a dead arm," Maddie added after a moment, remembering. "It was definitely her."

Whiskey put her face in her hands. "Fucking hell."

"Well, so much for _that_ ," Sierra said, looking disgusted, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "Now we know what fucking happened to her, don't we? I thought that you said we could rely on her, Whiskey. But I guess now she's playing for the other team. A whole goddamn good that did then, didn't it, putting all our hope in her? She wasn't in D.C. because she's off playing mad scientist for Alpha. Alpha! Fucking Christ."

"Shut the fuck up, Sierra," Whiskey sighed, sounding very tired. "There's nothing we can do about it now."

"We won't spare her," Victor said quietly, hands folded on his lap, staring at something above Maddie's left shoulder. He sounded more like he was talking to himself rather than to anyone in the room. "When the time comes, we won't be lenient. She's a turncoat and she'll be treated as such. Isn't that right, Whiskey?" He turned to her, as if suddenly snapping back to reality.

Whiskey nodded mutely. "Of course," she said, after a pause. "Of course, it's to be expected. No one betrays us."

"I'm tired," Maddie suddenly announced, her mind suddenly growing fuzzy, and suddenly she saw herself from very far away, as if she wasn't actually sitting on the couch, but instead watching someone who looked and sounded just like her, while the real her stood in the doorway. "I'm really fucking tired. I need to sleep. I need . . . a bed. Whiskey," she turned to Whiskey, who looked at her, startled. "Whiskey, please, let me sleep. I really need to find a place where I can lie down. The couch is so . . ." she trailed off, laughing. "It's not proper. I need a bed."

"Okay," Whiskey said, grabbing her by her hands and pulling Maddie to her feet. "Let's take you upstairs."

Maddie was vaguely aware of herself collapsing after five feet, of Whiskey catching her as she fell and being carried over Whiskey's shoulder up and the stairs before being dropped onto the bed in the master bedroom. There was something wrong; she knew that much. But she was in a haze that she just couldn't seem to snap herself out of it. The corners of the world were blurry and her head was spinning. And she was exhausted; it felt like she hadn't slept in days --

Why hadn't she slept? There was someone talking to her about flowers. They were saying things about a vase and the colors blue and green and Maddie didn't understand. She just wanted to sleep, she didn't want to talk about this sort of thing right now. The man kept talking; Maddie just wanted him to be quiet. All she wanted was --

She snapped awake when someone slapped her.

"What the _fuck_ ," she groaned, bringing her hand up to her cheek.

"There was something wrong with you," Whiskey said anxiously. "I don't know what happened, but you just drifted away. Your eyes went all blank and it was just -- it doesn't matter. You're fine now." She kissed Maddie on her bruised cheek and straightened up, looking down at Maddie, who realized she was lying in bed with the covers tugged up around her.

"Wait," Maddie called weakly, as Whiskey turned to leave. "Whiskey, please. Stay with me? I don't want to do what I did before. I could hear people talking who weren't there, and -- "

Whiskey shushed her, sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed Maddie gently. "Okay," she said. "I'll stay."

Maddie drifted off to sleep with Whiskey watching her, fingers nervously twisting a strand of hair around her finger and looking at Maddie with an expression that Maddie just couldn't quite comprehend.

 

;; 

 

"They did something to me," Maddie insisted, for the thousandth time the next day, feeling like she'd slept for weeks, her mouth dry and throat cracked, sore all over and wincing from a splitting headache that persisted throughout the day, even after she'd downed three pills of Vicodin that Whiskey'd gotten from _somewhere_.

"I'm telling you," she said, sitting on their bed as Whiskey paced the room. "I don't know what it was that they did, but, oh, fuck, Whiskey, you _saw_ me. I just drifted asleep or something and there was just something _wrong_ with me. It felt like I was being controlled or something. I can't explain it. It's like I've been conditioned to do something -- I don't know. But I'm telling you that it's the fucking truth."  
   
"Well," Whiskey said, with a look that was half-amused and half-annoyed, " _if_ they managed to train you, I'll fucking drive down to LA right now and shake Alpha's goddamn hand myself, considering that I've been unsuccessful for at least a year now."  
   
Maddie rolled her eyes. "I'm not a fucking, like -- I'm not a _dog_. They didn't 'train' me or anything. I spent the full three weeks in a near fucking coma with all the sedatives they gave me, number one, and, number two, so what, I had some weird-ass dreams. I think that's only to be expected when my body was fighting off an infection and trying to replace the million or so brain cells I lost when someone struck me 'cross the back of the head with the butt end of a rifle."  
   
Whiskey frowned and shook her head, scratching the back of her neck absentmindedly. "It's not that simple. It never is, not with Alpha. You think they'd just let you go, just like that? _Obviously_ they were up to something, you fucking moron -- who knows what, though, that's the real question."  
   
Maddie plopped down on the bed, which creaked and sagged under her weight. "So, what the fuck is it that you're tryin' to say here? That they brainwashed me or something?"  
   
"Not _brainwashed_. Think more along the lines of brain implants. You know, chips that can be activated with a cellphone or some shit like that. Fuck me, I don't know -- I went to school to be a doctor, not a goddamn mad scientist."  
   
Maddie stared at her for a full minute before bursting out into laughter.  
   
"Jesus H. _Christ_ ," she said, her cheeks hurting from smile too hard. "Are you fucking serious with this? _Brain implants_? Really. Fucking Christ Almighty; you've really lost it this time, haven't you? I'm telling you, there is something seriously wrong with you."  
   
Whiskey didn't look quite as amused. "How the fuck is this somehow more unbelievable than any of the other shit we've been through so far in the past year? Fuck it -- we'll go back six fucking years here, take a nice little trip down memory lane: when you were sixteen, would you have even considered the fact that a plague would wipe out a quarter of the planet in one sweep? Or that a second one would come along and be even _worse_? Everything is fucking impossible to believe -- until it _happens_."  
   
"But -- " Maddie started and Whiskey cut her off with an angry glare.  
   
"I _know_ they did something to you."  
   
"Well, maybe they did," Maddie agreed wearily, getting up and going over to where Whiskey was standing by the window, tentatively draping her arms around Whiskey's neck, nosing her hair away from the space below her ear and kissing it gently, trying to coax Whiskey into a better mood. "But if Alpha's as brilliant as you say he is, then it's not something we'll ever know -- not until it happens, whatever it is."  
   
"You could die," Whiskey said quietly, not looking at her. "We all could. I don't know who -- what -- you are anymore."  
   
"I'm yours," Maddie told her, arms dropping and going around Whiskey's waist this time, pulling her into a closer embrace.  
   
Whiskey didn't react at first; it was several long moments later when one hand settled on the small of Maddie's back and the other reached up to brush the bangs back from Maddie's forehead so that she could press a kiss there. Maddie moved in just slightly, enough to press their lips together, and it was if Whiskey'd snapped out of whatever temperamental mood she'd been in; she pushed into the kiss and Maddie could feel her smiling.  
   
Her hand on Maddie's back slipped beneath the fabric of Maddie's wife beater and they didn't talk any more after that for some time.  
   
"You are, aren't you," Whiskey remarked later, when Maddie was lying with her head on Whiskey's chest and Whiskey was lazily curling and un-curling a strand of Maddie's hair around her index finger.  
   
"What?" Maddie asked drowsily.  
   
"Mine."  
   
"Of course," Maddie murmured, tracing circles along the flat plane of Whiskey's stomach, feeling the way the muscles twitched beneath her fingertips. "I think maybe that I always have been, long before I even knew it. I always wanted to be noticed by you -- maybe it was just _you_ that I wanted all along."  
   
Whiskey let out a small, muffled chuckle. "You're very strange, Maddie Costley. I don't know why you'd want to belong to someone like me."  
   
"I don't know either," Maddie confessed, and rolled over and shifted until she was straddling Whiskey's hips and running her hands up to lie flat against Whiskey's breasts, leaning in and kissing her breathlessly so that they no longer had to talk about things that had no explanations or answers or made any sense at all.

   
;;

 

"So," Whiskey said, one evening when they were all sitting around passing a bottle of lukewarm Rolling Rock between the four of them. "I've come up with a name for Maddie."

Maddie perked up instantly at that. "Oh? What is it?"

Whiskey took a swig of beer, set the glass down with a sharp _clink_. "November."

Sierra made a sound of approval and Victor said, "Oh, that's nice."

"What's it mean?" Maddie wanted to know. "You told me before that all your names have meanings, so, what is November supposed to stand for?"

"It's a secret for now," Whiskey told her, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "I can't tell you just yet, because I'm not yet sure if the name entirely suits you. But hopefully it does -- or, will, at any rate -- and then I'll tell you."

For once Maddie couldn't even bring herself to be annoyed over Whiskey's secretiveness; she was just pleased that she'd finally been given a name. It was like suddenly a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, like she fucking _belonged_ now, despite having spent more than a year with Whiskey and the others. She tried the name out, letting it roll slowly off her tongue. _No-vem-ber_. Nice; strong. It was going to take some getting used to, though.

"Well, it's about fucking time," Victor said, with a smile, reaching for the bottle. "I was halfway convinced you were never gonna give her a name, Whiskey. I thought maybe we'd just be calling her plain old Maddie Costley for the rest of her life. Or, 'that ungrateful bitch,' as Sierra liked to call her."

"Hey now," Sierra said, pretending to be offended; Victor winked at her across the table, slid the beer over.  
   
"I like it," Maddie said to Whiskey, who offered her a small smile. "Are you really going to call me that from now on?"

"Yes." Whiskey tapped herself out a cigarette. "Unless you're more of a fan of 'that ungrateful bitch,' of course, in which case I wouldn't mind obliging you." She grinned at Maddie.

"No, no, November will do just fine, thank you," Maddie said, playfully nudging her under the table with her foot. Whiskey kicked her back and smiled, the first genuine smile Maddie had seen in nearly four months, ever since Creek Lake; she loved Whiskey just a little bit more for it, at that moment.

Later that evening, she and Whiskey stood out on back deck, which was attached to one of the guest bedrooms downstairs, sharing a cigarette and a warm bottle of Coors. It'd used to be that the smog and the lights from the city had made it impossible to see the stars, but after a six year absence, November thought that the sky was very clear indeed, the stars glittering like tiny diamonds against a dark blue velvet backdrop.

"It's not going to be easy, you know," Whiskey sighed, leaning on the railing, staring out into the night. "Whatever Alpha's planning, it's going to be big. If he goes down, you can bet your ass he's going to try and take us all down with him."

November shrugged, tossed away her bottle. "I'm not scared."

"You should be," Whiskey said gravely, turning to look at her. "You don't know what Alpha's capable of and you don't know when he's going to make his move -- when he comes after us. It'll be at the time you least expect, and that's how he'll be able to hurt us the most."

"So we fight back. We're stronger than he is."

Whiskey smiled, shook her head. "You'll never change, will you? Always believing that you can't be beat."

"Well, someone has to believe in us," November told her. "Otherwise, what's the point? There isn't one."

Whiskey flicked away her cigarette and slipped back into the room. In November's peripheral vision, she saw Whiskey undress, climb into bed. She sighed and took out her box of Exports, smoked until Whiskey called to her, in an unusually playful voice, "Come to bed, November."

She did as she was told, flicking away her cigarette over the railing and closing the door silently behind her.

 

;;

 

Victor and Sierra went out over the next couple of days, looking to find a new place for them to take shelter in. On the fourth day, they came back and told Whiskey about an abandoned warehouse that they'd found less than twenty miles from the house they were all currently staying in. It was pretty much isolated from anything else and, as Sierra pointed out, looked like it'd previously been used as a shelter, since it was pretty well barricaded already.

Whiskey agreed that it sounded like a good enough spot, but the next day she went out to go see it for herself -- and dragged November along with her, much to November's chagrin. She wasn't very keen on going out much after what had happened to her less than a week earlier. She'd had enough of being someone's science project to last her a lifetime.

They didn't talk on the drive over; Whiskey kept her eyes fixed on the road and November passed the time staring out the window, marveling over how much had changed in the years that had gone by. Most everything was still intact, but the roads were completely devoid of any traffic at all; it was more than a little unsettling. Los Angeles didn't feel quite right without the roar of traffic and crowded sidewalks.

She didn't like it at all.

A quick scan of the area upon arrival proved that Sierra and Victor had been right about the warehouse being isolated and self-protecting. November could see that all the windows were boarded up and she wondered who had been here before and why they had left. She didn't have time to wonder long, though, as Whiskey was already inside. Following her lead, November kept close behind her, as they went up and checked the top floors first.

The third and second floors were completely empty, save for a thick layer of dust, and November was already bored by the time they trooped back down the stairs to the main level, guns tucked back away.

"Tell me again why we're here," November asked, as they finished checking out the first floor and headed down to the basement.

Whiskey sniffed, kicked at a piece of scrap metal near the stairs. "Because," she said, as they made their way down the steps. "We need a place to stay until Alpha decides to make a move. This is the best place around; it doesn't have a lot of entrances, it'll be easy to secure, and it's sturdy. It'd be a fucking task for him to get into this place -- he'd be forced to wait outside and we'd be able to strike back at our leisure. But we need to check it out first to make sure it's as okay as Victor and Sierra say it is."

"Sometimes I feel like you've been in the fuckin' military or something," November teased, as they came to the bottom of the stairs, Whiskey kicking open the basement door. "You know, because you sound like a goddamn general half the time."

"Well, one of us needs to know what we're doing," Whiskey said, with a slight grin.

The basement wasn't as dark as November'd expected it to be. There were small windows all along the basement, near the ceiling, and light pooled in through the only slightly-dusty windows. The basement was mostly empty, except for the back, where a few rows of crates were stacked high. Like the rooms before it, there was no sign that anyone had been there for quite a while.

"I guess the area's clear then," November said, shoving her hands into her pockets and surveying the area.

"Yeah," Whiskey agreed. "Come on; let's go tell Victor and Sierra the good news."

They were just about to turn when they heard the tell-tale click of a gun being cocked. Instantly Whiskey froze and November followed suit, not even daring to glance over her shoulder to see who it was. There was the sound of someone walking down the steps, the rustle of clothing.

"Hello there, Whiskey," a voice said behind them, in a conversational tone, as if they weren't being held at gunpoint.

November and Whiskey both turned around. In the doorway stood a lanky woman with short, messy dark hair. She was dressed in black jeans and a bright blue shirt, sporting knee-high lace-up boots. She had a knife tucked in her belt and she was loosely holding onto a police-issue Glock with one hand.

"Kilo." Whiskey said, in a clipped voice. "I thought you were dead."

"Yeah, funny thing about that," Kilo said, with a smile that looked much more mean than friendly. "I thought you were dead too." She cocked her gun in November's direction. "Who's your friend?"

"November," November said. Whiskey gave her a look that meant _shut up_.

Kilo raised an eyebrow. "So she's one of us then. She's just a little thing, isn't she? A bit young for you, Whiskey, don't you think?"

"Fuck off, Kilo," Whiskey said, hand resting on her Colt.

"No, I don't think so," Kilo brandished her gun at them. November took a step back without thinking; Whiskey didn't budge. Kilo's smile widened. "You know, Whiskey," she said, leaning against the door frame casually, tucking her gun into her pants and pulling out her knife, toying with it idly. "I heard about what happened with you and Alpha. Got into a nasty little spat about Echo, didn't you? He made a nice little example of you, gave you all those pretty scars."

Whiskey didn't say anything.

"You know, you were always my favorite," Kilo went on, sounding almost bored. "You were always so nice to me, 'specially after Juliet -- well, you remember what happened." She raised an eyebrow, smirked. "Too bad you got yourself mixed up with Alpha's girl. You know, _I_ heard she doesn't go by Echo anymore; now she goes around calling herself Omega. Death." Kilo chuckled. "She always _did_ think she was better than the rest of us."

"Who're you running with now, Kilo?" Whiskey asked, changing the subject.

Kilo tucked her knife back away, striding over to Whiskey, circling her and November. "Why do you care? I've heard that you've got your own little gang now, Whiskey. That true? I'm surprised Alpha let you take them."

"Kilo," Whiskey said, in a dangerously calm voice. "Answer the question."

November saw Whiskey's grip tighten on her pistol.

"I don't keep house with anyone now," Kilo said, in a conversational tone, stopping in front of November and looking her up and down. "I'm on my own now. I thought you would have known that. Juliet -- "

"Is dead, I know," Whiskey snapped, taking a step forward, angry now. "Enough small talk; I'm not interested in playing where-are-they-now with you. Now you listen to me, Kilo. Alpha's after us. We're looking for a place to stay, to lay low for a bit."

"Well, don't fuckin' look to me," Kilo turned. "There's no lost love between Alpha and me but, personally, I could give a damn whether you need help or not."

"Come on now, Kilo," Whiskey said, trying a more persuasive tone. "Surely you're not scared of Alpha -- you and him used to get into scuffles all the time. As I recall, you're one of the few people I know who actually has the balls to take him on with hand-to-hand combat."

Kilo snorted at that, but she couldn't completely hide the pleased look on her face.

"You know," November said, speaking up. "I've heard a lot about you; Whiskey here is always going on about the good old days. From what I know, you're the only one who _can_ help us."

There was silence, for a minute.

"How much is your safety worth to you?" Kilo asked Whiskey, hands on her hips. "I could be persuaded to help you out -- be your mercenary, if you'd like. For a price, of course."

"We haven't got that much money," Whiskey lied, face blank. "We can give you seven hundred -- "

Kilo shook her head. "That's not enough. Two thousand."

"Christ," Whiskey muttered, rolling her eyes. "What the fuck is this, Kilo? I'm not that fucking desperate, you know. I'd thought maybe you'd cut me some slack, given that we used to run together -- loyalty and all."

"Loyalty," Kilo scoffed. "Don't _you_ lecture me about loyalty, Whiskey."

"I'll pay," November volunteered boldly. Both Whiskey and Kilo turned to look at her, surprised. November blanched a bit under their stares, but continued on. "I've got the money." She looked at Kilo, meeting her eyes. "I can pay you what you want. But I need your word that you'll stand by us."

Kilo raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd rely on your little plaything to protect you, Whiskey."

"One, I'm not her _plaything_ ," November snapped back, annoyed. "Two, I'm not doing this for _her_. I'm doing this for myself. I could give a fuck about what happens to Whiskey, but I'm sure as hell not going to die at Alpha's hands."

"Well then," Kilo circled her. "You've got a bit of fire in you, don't you? It's more than I expected."

"Do we have a deal or not? " November demanded. "If I pay you, will you work for us?"

Kilo considered it for a moment. November kept her gaze even, while Whiskey clenched and unclenched her hands, a nervous tic that November had long picked up on. Whiskey was just edging for a fight, but that wasn't going to solve any of their problems.

"Okay," Kilo said, after a minute. "As long as you've got the money -- "

"You'll get half now and half later," November told her quickly. "I don't want you taking the money and running off. After all, I need some sort of security."

"I'm a lot of things, but I'm no turncoat," Kilo said, taking a step in closer. She was smaller than November, but incredibly intimidating. November forced herself to keep a blank face. "You're paying me, so I'm yours. That's how it works. But when this thing with Alpha is over, and I get my money, don't expect me to stick around."

Whiskey made a sound of annoyance. "Enough talk. We're not asking for your undying loyalty, Kilo, we're just making sure you'll keep up your end of the bargain."

"I said I'd do it, didn't I?"

"Good." November flicked a bit of dirt off her sleeve, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

They shook on it. Kilo asked about the first thousand and November pulled her wallet out of her back pocket. Kilo laughed at that, with a "Jesus Christ, kid, you really carry that much on you?" shaking her head with disbelief before taking the folded bills with an amused smile. She made sure to count them out in front of Whiskey and November, satisfied when she counted ten hundred dollar bills.

"You know, kid," Kilo said, as November and Whiskey turned to leave. "You remind me of Juliet, a little. Hot-headed. Bold. She would have liked you a lot; I can tell."

November managed a smile; Kilo turned away, kicking at the dust on the floor.

"Idiot," Whiskey whispered furiously in November's ear, when they were leaving. "She's going to kill you now, now that she knows where you keep your money. And you shouldn't have struck a deal with her! If you'd given me a few minutes with her, I would have persuaded her to side with us."

"Please," November said, opening the door and ushering Whiskey outside. "First of all, she's not going to kill me, because I made a big show out of how it was the only cash I had on me. She has no idea where the rest of it is. Second of all, she likes me, so we've got that counting for us. Thirdly, I _know_ what _your_ method of persuasion would have been and it wouldn't have done us any good."

Whiskey _hmph_ -d but didn't say anything else as they walked to where the Impala was parked.

"Besides," November said, when they were inside, Whiskey starting the car and gunning the engine. "It's not even real money anyway. It's counterfeit shit that I lifted from someone in Glen River fucking _ages_ ago."

"Well, fucking hell," Whiskey said, chuckling. "I fucking knew you were good for _something_."

She twisted her fingers in November's shirt and yanked her in for a kiss, not pulling away until the Impala threatened to go off the road.


	6. Chapter 6

When they got back to the house, Victor and Sierra were standing outside on the porch, guns in hands.

"Fucking Christ," Sierra said, relaxing some when Whiskey and November got out of the car. "What the hell took you so long? Victor and I were starting to think that maybe something happened."

"Ran into an old friend of ours." Whiskey pocketed her keys, made her way up the steps on the front porch. "Kilo."

"No shit -- really?" Victor tucked his gun away and Sierra followed suit. "I thought she was dead."

"Yeah, well, so did I," Whiskey said, as they all went inside, sitting down at the kitchen table. "But she's as alive and well as you and I. I don't have any fucking clue how or why, or where she's been, she just showed up at the warehouse. Fuckin' pulled a gun on us, no less -- she must have been following us for a while now, otherwise how else would she have known where we were?"

Sierra leaned forward on the table, brows furled in concentration. "How the fuck has she been following us all this time and we didn't pick up on it?"

Whiskey shrugged. "It doesn't fucking matter, since she's not working for Alpha. She said that she's all on her own now -- I guess she doesn't much care for gangs after what happened. Understandable, of course. But thanks to November here, she's going to be covering our asses." She clapped November heavily on the back.

Victor glanced over. "Yeah? What'd you do?"

"Kilo wanted to be paid, so November gave her what she wanted -- she just neglected to mention that the bills she handed over aren't real currency."

"I doubt she'll notice," November said. "The guy I nicked them from, he used to make real good shit like that. I passed off fake bills of his all the time at Topher's back in Glen River. It's completely legitimate -- except for the fact that it's actually not."

"Well done, kid," Victor laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know I don't need to tell you this, but it never hurts to have as many people on your side as you can get. And Kilo's one of the better ones to have." He stood up, going over to the cabinet near the refrigerator. "Sierra and I found this little stash earlier when you two were out -- we were planning on saving it for a special occasion, but I guess this warrants having a drink, yeah?"

"Fuck yes," Whiskey sighed, smiling. "I'm fucking parched."

Victor got glasses out of the cabinet and poured rum for the four of them. He handed out the drinks, plunking November's down in front of her with an easy smile. "Drink up, November. It's because of you that we can rest easy tonight."

"Yeah?" November downed half her drink in one gulp.

"I'll take first shift tonight," Sierra told Whiskey. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow, when we move into some place that's actually secure, but I think it'll be a pretty quiet night tonight. Alpha knows that we know he's gunning for us; he won't want to try anything until he thinks he can catch us off guard."

"Let's see where we are tomorrow, then," Victor said, and Whiskey nodded before tossing back the rest of her drink.

She and November retired to bed shortly after that.

"Come here," Whiskey said quietly and November shifted until she was close enough so that Whiskey could drape an arm around her waist. "You're fucking brilliant sometimes," Whiskey told her, kissing her slowly. November could only nod and smile, sliding in even closer, pressing their bodies flush together.

It was much later when she drifted awake again, when Whiskey got out of bed, tugging her jeans and shirt back on. November sleepily watched her get dressed, smiled as Whiskey straightened, pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail. Whiskey looked so pale in the moonlight, her skin so soft -- November just wanted Whiskey to climb back into bed with her. She made a small sound of annoyance and Whiskey turned, smiled.

"Go back to sleep," she said quietly, pulling on her leather jacket and zipping it up midway.

"You look fuckin' gorgeous right now," November mumbled, directed more into her pillow than at Whiskey herself.

"You're ridiculous," Whiskey told her, but she was still smiling as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to November's forehead. "But really, get to sleep. I'll be back in a few hours to wake you up for guard duty."

November reached blindly for her, catching Whiskey's hand and holding onto it for just a moment. "I'll be here."

"Yeah," Whiskey murmured softly. "I know."

 

;;

 

Kilo was waiting for them the next day, when they pulled into the lot of the abandoned warehouse, leaning against a large black pickup truck, arms crossed, Glock hanging from a chain on her jeans, which looped around her belt.

"Completely impractical," Whiskey called it. November didn't know if she was referring to the gun or the car, but she felt that it was appropriate either way.

Whiskey parked and they all got out; Kilo pushed herself off the truck and strode over, meeting them halfway.

"Victor," she said, giving the group a once-over. "Sierra. It's a been a while, hasn't it."

"Yes, long time no see, Kilo. We thought you were dead."

"So I heard. Fortunately for you, I'm alive and well. But I'm also surprised," she looked over at Whiskey. "I'd assumed you had more people."

Whiskey said, "They were the only ones willing to leave. Mike and Tango were on my side too -- or so they said, anyway, but when it came down to it, they wanted nothing to do with leaving, said it was equivalent to treason. But Victor and Sierra came through, and they're all I need. Plus November here, of course."

"Of course." Kilo smiled at November in a way that wasn't at all nice. "Five makes us a team, doesn't it? Alpha always said it was the lucky number." She sniffed, shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Well then, if we're all done catching up, I suggest we get to setting up camp. I had expected you here sooner, to be honest."

"We've got time," Whiskey informed her, taking out her pack of Marlboros. "Alpha's not going to hit us now, you know that. He's too clever for that sort of thing."

"Doesn't mean we need to stand around wasting our fucking time though," Kilo said, looking at Whiskey expectantly, giving her a little nod when Whiskey sighed and wordlessly tapped out a cigarette for Kilo as well, handing it over.

They unpacked quickly, unloading all of the boxes that November and Sierra had put together the night before, carting them into the first floor of the warehouse. Once they were finished, Victor and Kilo got to boarding up the windows, leaving only a small slit for them to shoot out from. Whiskey, Sierra, and November began setting up the area so that it could be utilized properly. They loaded up all the crates from the first and basement floors, piling them near the doors, in case they needed to be blocked up.

Half an hour later they were done, sitting in the basement on crates at a makeshift table, passing around a bottle of scotch that Victor and Sierra had procured earlier that week while out. Kilo had gone out to survey the area ("Alpha isn't looking for _me_ ," she'd grinned), and Sierra had just passed it over to Whiskey, who was about to take a swig of it, when --

"Hello," a voice said. "Your locks are pretty easy to pick, you know. Simple -- much too simple indeed."

November's head snapped up; she'd recognize that voice from anywhere.

They all turned to look at the intruder; Whiskey slowly put down the bottle of scotch, face blank, body rigid. A quick glance around the table revealed that Victor and Sierra were wearing the exact same expression on their faces; November didn't even have to look to know they already had their hands on their guns, ready for a fight. She dropped her hand to her hip, where her own 9mm was tucked into a holster Victor'd nicked for her when they were in D.C.

"Bennett," Whiskey said, voice unnervingly level. "What are you doing here?"

"Relax, Claire," Bennett said, eyes flicking down to where Whiskey's hand was on her gun before focusing upwards once more. "I'm not armed. Of course I'm not. You know that. I just wanted to talk with you, explain things."

Whiskey rolled her eyes. "What's to explain?" she snapped.

"I did join sides with Alpha, yes," Bennett jumped in quickly. "Yes. But only to keep myself safe. It was the only logical thing I could do, Claire, you know that. The only logical thing. He requested my services and I did as I was told. I only did what I thought was right -- "

"You kidnapped one of my people, Bennett. And you played mad scientist with her. Explain to me how you think that's doing the right thing, because I'm _really_ fucking curious."

Bennett gave her a tiny smile. "I made her better. Alpha -- Alpha gave me the tools to make people their best; I'm the only one who can do it. The only one who can do it at all. His lab -- he has so much information." She toyed with a strand of hair, curling it around her index finger. "You see, I had no choice in the matter. It would have been foolish to resist him."

Victor let out an aggravated sigh and slammed his hands on the table before standing up, glaring at Bennett. "This is _stupid_. Whiskey," he said, turning. "Why are you even listening to her? You know what happened, what she _did_. She _turned_ on us -- that's unforgivable."

"Yes," Sierra spoke up, gun already in hand. "It is."

Bennett's smile widened menacingly. "Yes. It is, isn't it. Want to see a magic trick?" she asked calmly. She turned to November, fixing her in a cold stare. "There are three flowers in a vase. The third flower is green -- "

There was nothing; silence; darkness; a quiet kind of emptiness. It felt like she was falling.

" -- the third flower is yellow."

November blinked, snapped awake.

Her fists were aching and bloody, like she'd tried to punch her way through a wall. Her head felt nearly ready to explode, almost like it first had back when she'd been kidnapped by Alpha and his gang. There was a cut on her upper arm; she could feel the sting, as well as the blood sliding down her arm. It was only a moment later when she noticed the others, Sierra and Victor, lying slumped over in a heap, bloody and bruised. Unconscious.

Whiskey was only a few feet away, Colt in one hand, her other fist wrapped tightly around her knife. Her face was smeared with blood, one eye looking pink and swollen. There was a long, deep gash along one leg, where something had torn through the fabric of her jeans and sliced her calf. Small cuts and bruises decorated her arms. Her shirt was splattered with blood, already dark crimson in color.

Her eyes were cold and hard. She looked hurt, panicked. It was the one thing that scared November the most.

She heard laughter behind her and she spun around, fists raised, ready for an attack. But it was only Bennett standing there, toying with that strand of hair again and leering at them both: Whiskey, who was already climbing to her feet, panting, and November, who had no idea what the fuck had just gone on.

"Neat trick, wasn't it." Bennett smiled meanly, lips pressed thinly together.

"What the fuck did you _do_ ," November spit out taking a step towards Bennett and pointing at Whiskey, her lip split and bleeding. "What did you _do_ to her?"

Bennett examined her fingernails, her expression almost bored. " _I_ didn't do anything. But _you_ did."

November stopped short. "What?"

"You're the one who hurt them," Bennett explained, like she was speaking to a child. "It was you who did this. Not me. Though I suppose you could say that I helped. I gave you the ability to do this. It's wondrous, isn't it?" she smiled maddeningly at November.

"Fuck you," November snarled, fingernails digging into her palm, just as Whiskey cocked her gun.

"Explain yourself," Whiskey said, leveling her gun at Bennett. " _Now_ ," she snapped angrily, a moment later, when Bennett didn't respond. "Tell me what you did to her or I'll blow your fucking brains out."

"You always did have a temper, Claire," Bennett sighed, sounding almost disappointed. "What good will it do if you shoot me? I'm not working for Alpha, so he won't lose anything he needs. Or anyone -- anything. And if you kill me, well," she smirked, "you'll never find out what's wrong with Madeline, will you? Poor Maddie. Poor, poor, poor -- "

Whiskey fired a shot; it hit Bennett in the thigh. Blood spurted out from the wound and Bennett cried out in pain, clutching at it and sinking to the ground. Quicker than lightning she tore off a piece of her shirt and wrapped it around her thigh to stop the bleeding; November watched the blood soak through the thin, teal colored fabric. The stain, spreading rapidly, looked black, like it wasn't real at all.

"That wasn't very _nice_ , Claire," Bennett said, in a strained voice.

"It was a _warning_ ," Whiskey said, standing over Bennett with her pistol pointed right at Bennett's head. "I don't have any problem killing you, Bennett; if you won't tell me what you did to her, I'll just figure it out myself. But it'd make things easier for all of us if you just talked."

She prodded Bennett with her boot; Bennett groaned, hands pressed against her wound, blood seeping slowly through her fingers.

"You know I won't tell you, Claire. A magician never reveals her secrets, and it is a rather lovely little trick. But I have an ace up my sleeve too, because I know you won't kill me. You can't. Because I'm the only one who can fix Madeline. Little, little Maddie, nothing more than a switch, waiting to be turned on. She's quite lovely herself, isn't she."

"What do you _want_?" November asked, feeling suddenly panicked.

"I don't want anything." Bennett stared at her with a calm expression on her face. "I just stopped by to say hello to an old friend."

"You're _not_ my friend," Whiskey spat out, coming to stand beside November. There was the click of a gun being cocked and then Whiskey had her Colt out at arm's length, level with Bennett's face. "Not that it'll make a difference either way, but I'm curious -- give me one good reason why I shouldn't just waste you on the spot."

Bennett's mouth widened into a broad grin. "Because," she said, looking eerily cheerful. "Because I gave you a gift. A wonderful, terrible gift. Wonderful and terrible."

" _Gift_? You attacked us -- nearly _killed_ us. How is that a _gift_?"

"You're not _listening_!" Bennett's grin vanished and was instantly replaced with a scowl. "Not listening, not listening -- you were _always_ like this, Whiskey, always. You never see things the right way. _Her_ ," she said, jabbing a finger at November. "She's the one who nearly killed you. A wonderful and terrible gift."

Whiskey's arm wavered just a bit.

November said, "I don't understand. Are you saying -- "

"You know it now," Bennett cut in, turning back to Whiskey. "You know her trigger. On and off, on and off. You know what she's capable of. Heartless. Detached. Unreasoning. Advanced in every aspect. She's the perfect killer. It's how she was built."

Whiskey lowered her gun. "Bennett," she snapped. "Did Alpha do this?"

" _No_ ," Bennett said, defensively. "He came up with the idea, but he could have never done it himself. Only me.  
That's why he came for me -- he needed me."  
   
"He was _using_ you," Whiskey told her, frowning."Or do you not even care?"

"Of course he was using me. I didn't mind it, not then, not at first. But I'm tired now of playing. I don't like it anymore. That's why I came to you, Whiskey. I've come to help you. To give you a gift and to warn you as well. Alpha is waiting for you, Whiskey. He planted the girl with you, to hurt you, but now you know. The truth. You can turn her on him instead."

"I'm not some sort of -- some sort of _weapon_ ," November said, stepping in between them. "Look, I don't mind the fighting -- fuck, I'm always up for that of thing, really -- but I'm not okay with being treated as something just to be _used_. I didn't ask for this -- "

"And yet you have become it." Bennett's smile was wolfish. "November; gunpowder, treason, plot. Why fight against it? You love her, don't you?"

November started. "What?"

"Whiskey."

A pause, and then, November said, "Yes. I do."

Bennett's smile widened. "Then you will be a weapon. Now then," she said, turning back to Whiskey, taking a step back, just as Victor, still lying off to the side, uttered a groan and began to stir. "I believe I've over-stayed my welcome. Not welcome at all. But Alpha, Alpha, he's coming for you, Whiskey. Coming very soon."

Victor groaned again and Bennett took another step back, anxiously twirling a strand of hair between her index and middle fingers.

"Are you just fucking off again?" Whiskey asked, angrily. "Are you going back to him, turning on us once more? Once a traitor always a traitor, isn't that right, Bennett?"

"As always, you're wrong," Bennett said, still toying with a lock of hair. "And now I must _go_."

She turned and began to walk off. Whiskey didn't follow her; November, by her side, felt absolutely helpless, somehow rooted to the spot and not being able to move or say anything. They stood there like that until Victor stirred once more and then Whiskey strode over to where he was, bending down to murmur something to him, help him up into a sitting position.

He was badly bruised; November could see that well enough. She winced, knowing she was responsible. Sierra was still unconscious on floor next to him. Whiskey moved over to her, bending down on one knee and gently nudging her shoulder until Sierra woke up, with a small moan. Like Victor, she was also covered in bruises; there was a gash along her cheek, shirt bloody because of it.

"Hey," Whiskey asked, as November fetched Victor and Sierra some water. "Are you two okay? Not seeing spots or dizzy or anything?"

"I've got the worst fucking headache of my life," Victor said weakly, taking a long gulp of water. "But aside from that, I think I'm okay. Sierra -- ?"

"I'll live," Sierra muttered, taking the water from him, "despite the fact November just gave me a right beating."

"Sorry," November mumbled quietly, feeling worse than before. "I know, it's all my fault. I didn't know -- I mean -- "

Whiskey put a hand on November's shoulder, stopping her. "It's not November's fault," she told Victor and Sierra. "It was Alpha, with Bennett's help. That's why she came here today; she implanted some sort of brain chip into November. I don't know exactly how it works, other than there are two key phrases: one to turn it on and another to turn it off. Bennett told me she made November into perfect killer -- she said it was her gift to me."

"But why would she do that," Victor wondered, confused. "I thought she was working for Alpha."

"She didn't like being used, apparently." Whiskey shrugged. "It was a shit way of giving us something, but either way you look at it, she _did_ give us a gift. If Alpha tries to turn November on, I know the trigger to turn it off. That in itself is a gift."

"Fuck me," Sierra groaned, slowly standing up. "She couldn't have delivered the message in a less painful way?"

"Sorry, sorry," November said again quickly, helping Victor stand up.

He waved her off. "It's fine. Christ, November, who knew you had such a wicked left hook." He rubbed his jaw absently. "Fuck, after that, I think I'll be ready for anything."

"Well you're in luck then," Whiskey said, crossing her arms. "Because that was the second message Bennett left with us -- Alpha's coming. Soon. Probably sooner than we expected, otherwise she wouldn't have come."

Victor and Sierra exchanged looks. "So, what are we going to do, then?" Victor asked, after a moment.

"We're not going to do anything. Nothing we haven't already done, anyway; we'll board this place up and then sit and wait for Alpha to come to us."

"But he'll expect that," Sierra said, hands in her coat pockets. "Wouldn't it be better if we went to him? He wouldn't be expecting that -- we'd catch him off guard."

Whiskey sighed. "The problem is, we just don't have the man power."

"Correction," Kilo said behind them. "You didn't before. But _now_ you do. You should really look into getting a lock, by the way. Or at least close the front door; someone could get in."

"Kilo," Whiskey raised an eyebrow, but the upwards twitching of her mouth was unmistakable. "You decided to show up."

"Oh, you know me, Whiskey," Kilo drawled, playing with the chain that kept her gun attached to her belt loop. "What the fuck happened to you lot?" she asked, giving them all a once-over. "I'm gone not even half an hour and you all manage to get the shit knocked out of you. Except for you, _November_. Why is that?"

"It's a long story," Whiskey sighed. "And I'm not in the mood to tell it all again."

"Testy, testy." Kilo grinned wolfishly.

"What do you think, Kilo?" Sierra asked, stepping forward. "Do you think we can launch an attack on Alpha?"

"Not like that you can't," Kilo laughed. "But I'll tell you; the ones he's got with them now, they're nothing. Mike and Tango are old players, but everyone else in Alpha's gang is a rookie. Alpha and Omega are the only ones you'll be interested in. They'll provide a challenge."

Whiskey made a strange, soft noise. "Omega," she murmured. "Echo."

"Ah, yes," Kilo said. "Your little romance."

Sierra rolled her eyes; Victor cleared his throat.

November said, "Yes, Kilo, we're all aware. Now, back to the matter at hand -- "

"Like I said." Kilo shrugged, picked at her fingernails. "Alpha and Omega are the only real problems here. Anyone else you -- we -- can take out easy. They've got nine to our five, but so fucking what? I've gone up against bigger odds than that before and with lesser-skilled people."

"I still don't like it," Whiskey muttered, shaking her head. "It feels wrong, somehow."

Kilo shrugged again. "Do what you like, Whiskey. I'm only here because I'm getting paid."

 

;;

 

They barricaded the front door and then spent what was left of the day making sure that the rest of the building was secure. Satisfied that it was, Whiskey told them all to go to bed. They were going to need their sleep, especially after what had happened earlier. November thought maybe Whiskey would want to spend the night alone, but after getting a mock salute from Kilo, who sauntered off to find her own place to sleep for the night, Whiskey cocked her head in November's direction and headed upstairs to the second floor.

November trotted off faithfully after her.

Whiskey led her up onto the second floor and then even further up, to the roof. November wasn't very keen on sleeping outside, but said nothing about it.

"I just wanted to see the stars one last time," Whiskey explained, after a moment, staring up at the sky.

"What?" November asked, coming to stand beside her, hands in her pockets.

"Kilo thinks we should attack tomorrow. I agree."

November kicked lazily at some of the gravel covering the rooftop. "You think you're going to die. That's it, isn't it?"

"Everyone dies, Madeline," Whiskey said softly. "But I don't plan on dying tomorrow, if that's what you mean. But at the same time, I don't want to pretend that I _can't_. And anyway, I like the stars. My mother taught me all the constellations, when I was much younger. Now I only remember Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper. And Orion, I suppose, by default." She pointed them out at she spoke, and November was reminded of their first night on the roof, and wondered if Whiskey'd just not let on then that she knew the constellations already, for Maddie's sake; the thought was strangely comforting.

November licked her lips. "I think we can do it," she said.

Whiskey turned and looked at her curiously. "Do what?"

"Win," November said, and then she was reaching forward and grabbing Whiskey by her coat, yanking her in for a rough kiss. Whiskey, surprised, didn't react at first, but a second later she pushed back into the kiss, arms slipping around November's waist and holding her tightly.

It seemed to go on forever. When they finally broke apart, November felt like all the air had been ripped from her lungs.

"Claire," she said, because she couldn't help herself. "I love you."

Whiskey just kissed her again in response.

Later -- much later, when Whiskey'd spread out the blankets she'd brought up earlier from downstairs and they'd made love quickly, desperately -- Whiskey talked about how Kilo'd told her all the places she'd been to, what she'd seen and heard.

"She says that Rossum's merged with another big genetic engineering company," Whiskey said, as November played with a lock of her hair, curling it around a finger and then letting it fall again. "She said they're trying to find a cure for the epidemics."

"Rossum? That sounds familiar -- they had a huge office in Los Angeles, didn't they? I remember I used to see it on my way home from school."

"That's where Alpha lives now," Whiskey stretched and rolled onto her side, facing November. "That's why he picked it. He knew that a building like that would have everything he needed; it didn't just have office buildings there, mind. There were labs and everything."

November kissed the side of Whiskey's mouth. "There haven't been any reports of epidemics recently. Maybe Rossum and this other company, whatever it's called -- maybe they've found a cure."

"Kilo says in some parts people are experiencing rapid organ failures, mostly near New York City -- Manhattan's the center of it, she said. But it's been contained, so, yes, they must have found a cure."

They were quiet for a long time; November almost fell asleep at one point, but then Whiskey shifted again, taking the blankets with her and she'd been surprised awake by the cold. She moved up against Whiskey's back, draping an arm around Whiskey's waist and huddling against her for warmth.

"What are we going to do, after this?"she mumbled into Whiskey's shoulder.

There was a pause and then Whiskey sighed, covering November's hand with her own. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I really don't know."

 

;;

 

In the end, they didn't have to do anything, because just as they were all outside, packing the Impala and Kilo's truck to head into downtown Los Angeles to square off against Alpha, Sierra spotted someone lurking in the distance, some meters away. Whiskey instantly told them all to get behind the barriers they'd put up in various places around the building in preparation for an instance such as this.

There was a volley of gunfire overhead, as soon as they ducked and made themselves hidden. Warning shots, November knew, and felt her heart drop to her stomach, pulse racing, every bit of her on edge. No matter how much she'd tried to prepare herself for this, silently lying awake last night and building up her nerve while Whiskey slept on peacefully, she still wasn't ready for this. It was too soon.

It was too _real_.

"Victor," Kilo said, passing over a rifle to him. "You're a better shot then the rest of us; you've got military training. Can you try and pick off some of the ones on the front line so they'll stop fucking shooting at us?"

Victor looked down at the gun in his hands. "I'll try," he said, shouldering it.

"It'll be easy," Kilo assured him, passing him a box of ammunition as well. "Trust me; these fuckers have no idea where we are right now. They're just firing randomly -- they won't be expecting anyone to shoot back."

"Here," Sierra said, pulling him in for a quick kiss. "For good luck."

Kilo rolled her eyes and told Victor to get on with it.

Victor loaded the rifle and stood up quickly, firing two shots before crouching back down. Through the cracks in the barrier, November saw two of Alpha's gang fall, wounded. She reported as much; Kilo grinned, triumphant. Whiskey asked if Victor could take out a few more, to even the odds.

"It's worth a shot," he said, and shooting up, fired off another round.

November saw two more go down. There wasn't anyone left that she could see; she told Whiskey as much.

"Thank God for that," Whiskey muttered, standing up along with everyone else and dusting herself off.

"Well," Victor said, turning, rifle slung back over his shoulder. "Kilo was right; that _was_ easy."

There was a sharp _ping_ sound, like a coin being tossed against cement, and then suddenly there was a bright red spot on the front of Victor's olive-colored shirt, spreading rapidly. November heard herself say "Oh," very quietly, and then Victor was falling, falling fast. Sierra and Whiskey shot forward and caught him, scooping him up and easing him gently to the ground, leaning him back against the wall.

"Anthony, Anthony," Sierra said, over and over again, anxiously, eyes wide, and it occurred to November, seconds later, that she was saying Victor's real name. It sounded so strange to be hearing it now, with the sun bearing down hotly on them and blood staining his shirt.

Victor wasn't moving.

"What's wrong," November's lips were moving but it was like someone else was using her body and talking for her. "What's wrong with him."

"Come here," Kilo said, taking her arm and dragging her back some feet. "It's not -- he's not going to be okay. You know this, right? He's been shot, he -- "

There was another sharp _ping_ and Whiskey cursed loudly, dropping down to her knees. Victor hadn't moved, was just laying there on the ground, still. Sierra was crying; Whiskey wrapped an arm around her shoulders, said something to her that November couldn't hear. Next to her, Kilo was talking to her, but November wasn't listening.

Whiskey glanced over at her, past Sierra. "November," she said, in a sharp tone. "Listen to Kilo."

November turned back to Kilo, who was staring at her, hard. She cleared her throat. "What is it?"

"He's dead." Kilo said, very slowly. "Victor is dead. You need to know this and move on, because, those people shooting at us?" she gestured in the direction of Alpha's gang, several meters away. "They don't give a fuck. They want us all dead and they're not going to stop until we are. So you need to pull it together, okay? Wake _up_ , November."

Sierra was still sitting in the dust beside Victor's body, clutching his shirt, her head bowed. Whiskey came over, crouching down beside them quickly.

"We need to lure them in," she said, looking angry and sad all at once. "Victor was able to take out most of the rookie members for us. All that's left are Alpha, Omega, Foxtrot, Mike, and two others I don't know. If we can lure them in and engage them in hand-to-hand combat, we'll be better off. We're stuck, if we keep at it like this."

"So what do we do," November asked, still in a daze.

"Nothing, apparently," Kilo said, glancing over the barrier. "It looks like _they_ decided to come to _us_."

Whiskey cocked her gun. "Now or never then." She stared at November before yanking her in by the collar for a quick kiss. "Try not to die."

In a flash she leapt over the barrier; Kilo followed suit and November too, after a moment, gun in hand. She saw Mike and Foxtrot running towards them, guns out and at the ready, leading two others, one who she recognized as Tango and the other from back when she'd gotten knocked over the head in the kitchen, almost three months prior.

November fired a shot, clumsily -- it flew way over everyone's head. Whiskey's shot was more sure, hitting Tango in the thigh; Tango fell to the ground, rolling. Mike fired a shot and Kilo jumped to the side to avoid it. He fired again and Kilo let out a small cry of pain, having been clipped in the arm.

When they met in the middle, guns were forgotten about. Whiskey slammed her fist into Foxtrot's jaw; a thin spray of blood erupted as she knocked out a tooth. Kilo squared off against Mike and November was left with the blond girl whose name she didn't know. The girl swung at her wildly, only a few punches landing their mark. The moment she dropped her right arm November surged forward, hitting her up and under the chin. After that, it was only a matter of a few more decent punches until the girl fell to the ground.

She looked around to see what else was going on; Whiskey was still fighting with Foxtrot and Kilo had just knocked Mike to the ground, un-clipping her gun from her belt fast as lightening and shooting him twice in the chest.

"Well, don't just stand there," she shouted at November, turning.

November made to move forward when she felt the butt end of a pistol strike across the back of her head. She collapsed to the gun in pain, seeing stars. Tango, she thought, and weakly tried to fight back; Tango was too strong for her, though, hitting her again and again. It felt like ages when it finally let up -- there was the tell-tale _pop_ of Whiskey's Colt and then Tango fell backwards, brown eyes wide with surprise.

"I thought I told you not to die," Whiskey said, coming over and helping November up to her feet.

November could feel her nose bleeding, the blood running down over her lips, dripping off her chin. She wiped it away with her sleeve.

"Come on, then," Kilo said, twirling her Glock. "It's not over yet."

"Alpha." Whiskey's jaw tightened. "Where is he?"

"Sierra," November said after a second. "What about her? Do you think -- "

But Whiskey was already off, running as fast as she could in the direction where they'd last left Sierra. November and Kilo chased after her; the sound of a gun being fired only made November run faster.

Alpha was standing over Sierra, who was slumped over onto Victor's body.

" _Bastard_ ," Whiskey shouted, almost there. "You _fucking_ \-- "

Without even bothering to look up, Alpha shot at her, twice. The first bullet missed, but the second hit Whiskey in the shoulder. She stumbled for a moment but kept right on going. Alpha didn't shoot at her a third time. A second later they were upon Alpha, breathing hard, ready for a fight. Alpha just sighed and put away his small revolver, surveying them all with a bored expression on his face.

"My, my, Claire," he said, looking straight at Whiskey. "This is turning out to be rather fun, don't you think?"

"I'll _kill_ you," Whiskey snapped, barely holding herself back. "I'll fucking -- "

"Come now, _Whiskey_ ," Alpha smiled at her; it made November shiver. "All's fair in love and war, isn't that true? Sierra was a . . . _distraction_. Like the others." He glanced at November and Kilo who stood glaring at him. "It's better this way, isn't it, you and me, just like old times."

"Where's your pet?" Kilo asked haughtily, cocking her head back. "I expected Omega to be here."

"All in good time. I see _you_ haven't changed, Kilo. A hot-headed, arrogant little girl. How are things without Juliet, hmm? And speaking of pets," he looked over at November. "I see you've still got yours, Whiskey."

"Shut, up," Kilo said, very, very low voice.

Alpha flicked away a bit of imaginary dust off the sleeve of his dress coat, the bored expression back on his face. "You haven't shot me yet," he said lazily, after a minute of silence. "Why is that? You could have, and yet, you leave your weapons untouched. Maybe you fancy yourself better than that -- shooting me," he made a _tch_ sound, "that would be the easy way out, wouldn't it?"

Kilo made a low sound in the back of her throat and Whiskey said, "You haven't killed us yet either, Alpha."

"Like I said," Alpha looked at his nails, examining them. "That would be the easy way out. Oh, hello, Omega."

They whipped around, guns out, but Omega was faster, striking Kilo full in the face with the butt end of Victor's rifle. Kilo made a small sound of surprise before collapsing to the ground in a heap, unconscious. Whiskey had her knife out in a flash, leaping forward and slashing at Omega, who danced away with a laugh, tossing the rifle aside and shrugging off her coat.

"It's been a long time, Whiskey," she said, in a sing-song voice.

"Not long enough," Whiskey growled, lunging at her again, this time managing to just catch Omega on her shoulder, cutting in a thin, bright red line. Omega didn't even flinch; just shot forward and slammed into Whiskey, knocking them both to the ground. They rolled together in a flurry of punches being traded back and forth.

Alpha said, behind November, "Now, this _is_ fun, isn't it? But I think it's time to make it a bit more interesting. There are three flowers in a vase -- "

 _No_ , November thought, frantically, but then her world dissolved into darkness and she was falling, falling and couldn't stop herself.

" -- the third flower is _yellow_ ," a voice whispered in her ear and suddenly she was back again, on top of a struggling Whiskey, who had jerked her down by her jacket, mouth against November's ear. "Pretend you're still fighting me."

"Easy enough," November grunted, and hit her right in the face.

Whiskey swore. "Now, when I say -- "

"I got it, shut up," November said, and punched her again. Whiskey struggled against her, pushing up and knocking her off with her knee. November leapt to her feet and so did Whiskey, taking a slow step back as Whiskey stepped towards her. They traded blows; Whiskey faked to the left, struck to the right; November, having seen that move before, blocked it easily and cuffed Whiskey right along her jawline with a quick punch. She was shocked that Whiskey was fighting so poorly, until it occurred to her that was probably the _point_. Whiskey could normally take her out easily, but with the brain implant, November was the stronger one.

November could hear Omega and Alpha on the sidelines, watching them. Omega was laughing.

Whiskey grunted as the next blow caught her low in the stomach, and it was just enough for her to reach out and flash her knife, once. She brought it out and November kicked it away; they both dove for it as it fell, but November came away with it.

"Now," Whiskey mouthed at her, and November nodded once, before turning away.

She caught Omega by surprise, who lifted up her arms in defense just in time; November slashed through them, instead of Omega's neck. Omega cursed loudly and jumped at her, fists flying. One of them connected solidly with November's jaw and November heard something _crack_ , just as she saw stars.

Omega was atop her in a second, straddling her, gun pointed right between November's eyes.

"Goodness gracious," Omega said, looking down at her. "You're very unpredictable."

"And you don't know a ruse when you see one," November said and, pressing Whiskey's Colt to Omega's stomach, pulled the trigger.

She felt the shot reverberate through her arm; the kickback almost knocked her arm out of its socket. Omega's eyes went wide -- her mouth opened, but no sound came out. November bucked up and threw her off; Omega fell into the dirt, hands going to her stomach helplessly, blood pouring through her fingers.

"Claire," she moaned, reaching out blindly. "Claire, I . . . William."

Whiskey bolted over, intercepting Alpha as he came at November, shouting. They toppled to the ground, wrestling. November pushed herself onto her feet, shaking, dropping the Colt. Omega was still holding onto her stomach, bent over, coughing. November could see blood around her mouth, just a thin stream trickling down and dripping onto the dirt.

"I'm going to _kill_ you," Alpha snarled, still fighting with Whiskey, his face twisted and ugly with anger.

November came behind him, trying to pull him off Whiskey. Alpha knocked her away easily with a single punch. November landed hard on the ground, wincing. Whiskey kicked wildly at Alpha, trying to get him off her; he flipped his gun around in a flash, slamming the butt end against Whiskey's face once and then again, a second time. Whiskey went limp, dazed.

"Now," Alpha said, standing up, hovering over her, gun dripping with blood and pointed directly down at her. "This is what I _should_ have done, when I first caught you with Omega. _My_ girl >."

"Caroline was a lot of things," Whiskey spat up at him, face bloody. "But she was never _yours_."

Alpha kicked her hard, in the stomach. Whiskey let out a small yelp of pain, rolling onto her side and doubling over.

"Now, like I was saying," Alpha said, deadly calm. He cocked his gun.

There was a loud _pop_ sound and for a second November thought Whiskey had been shot, but no, Whiskey was moving, pushing herself up to her feet and Alpha was just standing there, frozen in place. It was then when November saw Sierra; she'd managed to get up a bit and had her hand wrapped around a Victor's gun. She was smiling.

Alpha stumbled, clutching at his shirt; his hand came away red and he stared at it, disbelieving. "Oh." He said, quietly. "Oh."

He fell without another word, collapsing to the ground with a soft _thud_. November rushed past him to where Sierra was, struggling to keep herself propped up on one elbow, Victor's old service revolver still in hand. November dropped down to her knees, gently prying the gun away. Sierra looked up at November, who held her by her shoulders, turning her over onto her back.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," Sierra sighed.

Whiskey came over, putting her pistol back in its holster. "Priya," she said quietly, standing over her. "That was quite a shot."

"Yeah." Sierra's eyes were half-closed now and her voice was low, throaty. "I think Anthony would have liked that, don't you think."

"Definitely," Whiskey said, crouching down long enough to press a kiss to Sierra's forehead before straightening up again. "He would have loved it."

Sierra sighed again. "Good," she said slowly. "That's good. It was . . . a nice way to end, I think."

She closed her eyes, her breathing growing more shallow with each passing second.

"Hey, hey," November said quietly, panicked, shaking her. "It's going to be okay. Sierra, you're gonna be okay."

"No," Sierra smiled up at her weakly, teeth red with blood. "You know I won't be."

"Don't _say_ that," November told her, gripping Sierra's shoulder even tighter. "Whiskey's a doctor, she'll know how to fix you, how to make you better. She won't let you die. She _won't_. She'll -- "

Sierra shook her head slightly. "I've lost too much blood."

"But -- "

"Please be quiet now, Maddie," Sierra sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "You know, I never really liked you, but you . . . _surprised_ me. You're a lot better than I thought you were."

"And _you_ surprised _me_ ," November could feel tears pricking in her eyes. "I don't want you to die. You just _can't_."

Sierra reached up and cupped November's cheek in her hand; Maddie could feel the wetness of blood on her skin. "It'll be okay. You have Whiskey. She'll take care of you. You're so young . . . " she sighed and her eyes slipped closed for another moment, this time for longer than before. "Victor's waiting for me."

"No, you _can't_ \-- "

"It's okay," Whiskey said, behind her, in a soft voice. "November."

November closed her eyes as Sierra's hand slipped away slowly from her cheek. Sierra's body suddenly felt incredibly heavy; November felt like she couldn't move her arms, like she couldn't move herself at all, like her whole body had turned to stone and she was rooted to the spot. But then Whiskey pulled on the back of her jacket, gently, and all of a sudden she could move again.

Sierra was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky lifelessly. Whiskey pulled again on November's coat, a bit harder this time, and November unwrapped her arms from around Sierra's shoulders and stood up. She didn't know what to think or do; thankfully Whiskey _did_ , wrapping her arms around November and embracing her tightly. They stood like that together for some time, until November took a tiny step back, needing some air.

"Come here," Whiskey finally said, leaning forward and lightly kissing the corner of November's mouth. "It'll be okay."

November could see the edges of the world grow blurry with tears. "No, it won't be," she said, shaking her head and staring down at the ground.

"No," Whiskey said, after a moment, wiping some blood away from her mouth. "It won't be."

They both looked over at Sierra, a tiny pool of blood creeping out from under her, mixing in the dust; it didn't look like her at all, November thought, her throat closing up.

"Well," Bennett said, startling them both. "That was quite a show indeed."

"Fuck off," Whiskey snarled, whipping her Colt back out and aiming it at Bennett, an inch away from her face. "Haven't you done enough damage as it is? The least you could do is have the decency to realize when you're not wanted someplace."

Bennett smiled. "I'm not staying. I only came to say goodbye."

"Wait," November said, straightening up, "do you mean that you're leaving?"

"I won't be leaving," Bennett said. "But you will be."

"And not soon enough," Whiskey muttered, putting the Colt back away with a sigh.

"But, wait," November sniffed, swiped at her eyes clumsily. "I thought maybe -- well, you're friends, aren't you?" She glanced from Whiskey to Bennett and then back again. "Or you used to be. I assumed that after all this -- well, you haven't really been very nice or helpful at all, but now that there's no one left, maybe -- "

"Dear November," Bennett gave her a look that was almost pitying. "Whiskey and I have never been on good terms. Never seen eye-to-eye, not us. Never ever. But my inclinations lay elsewhere -- not with traveling and fighting."

"She means that she's shit at that sort of thing," Whiskey commented to November. "A fuckin' coward, really."

"I like Los Angeles," Bennett continued, ignoring Whiskey. "And through a sudden turn of events, it seems I've acquired a rather lovely laboratory and a place to stay."

Whiskey laughed bitterly. "Alpha's place. Of _course_."

Bennett's tone was obnoxiously patient. "Of course indeed."

"So, does this mean we're never going to see you again?" November asked, cutting in. "What about the chip in my head? What about all that stuff that you and those other fuckin' freaks did to me? You can't just leave me like this -- it's not fair."

"I've already told you: it's a gift."

"One I _don't_ need anymore, so fuck you," November spat out, annoyed. "So fucking fix me already."

"There's nothing wrong with you," Bennett told her quietly. "Like I said before, you're perfect. The type of thing that Alpha dreamed of but couldn't possibly create. But I gave you the tools and opportunity and this is what you made of it." Bennett spread her hands wide, gesturing at bodies that lay strewn around them. "And you love her. If I were to change you how you are now, you wouldn't be able to protect her, not like you can now."

"Whiskey doesn't need protecting," November told her.

"It would be unwise to think like that. We all need protecting. Even Whiskey."

Whiskey finally spoke up. "She _is_ right, November," she said, and November stopped and stared at her. "At first I was as angry by all of this as you are -- and it's only understandable that you'd be upset. But something I've come to realize is that sometimes what may seem like a bad thing, something could will hurt you and hold you back, can actually turn out to be a most wondrous thing indeed."

November sniffed again and kicked at the dirt wordlessly.

Bennett was the first to break the silence.

"It's time for me to go now," she said, locking eyes with Whiskey. "But I'm sure we'll see each other again, eventually."

"Yeah," Whiskey said, with the slightest of smiles. "We will."

Bennett flashed one more smile in November's direction before striding off, her free hand shoved into her pocket, long coat catching in the wind and blowing out behind her. She didn't turn around, not once, and when she disappeared over the horizon, November kicked at the dust again before walking over to where Kilo was still spread out in the backseat, unconscious.

"Is she going to be okay?" she asked Whiskey, while they were both leaning against the side of the Impala, watching the slow rise and fall of Kilo's chest.

"She lost a fair bit of blood," Whiskey said, taking a swig of alcohol from her hip flask. "And got knocked right over the fucking head. But she's not going to die of it, if that's what you're asking. Not yet, anyway."

November nodded. Then, "You know what you said just now, about how there are some things that start off bad and turn out all right in the end? What were you talking about?"

Whiskey raised an eyebrow. "Do you really not know?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

"Madeline Costley," Whiskey said, the corners of her mouth turning up just slightly. "You're fucking impossible sometimes."

"So I've been told," November said, and allowed Whiskey to reach over and pull her in by her belt loops and kiss her. It was sweet and soft and made November almost want to cry again, thinking about how they could still do this but Victor and Sierra couldn't, not anymore, and she gently pushed at Whiskey's shoulders until Whiskey took a step back, looking at her curiously.

"Sorry, sorry," November said, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "It's just -- this is too soon, Whiskey. I don't know how -- Victor, Sierra, and -- "

She started to cry.

Whiskey made a sound of surprise. "Hey now," she said, in a softer voice than November would have imagined possible of her. "Come on, November. Come on, Maddie. It's all right."

"All _right_?" November cried, as Whiskey stepped forward and wrapped her arms around November's shoulders. "How is it all _right_."

"It's not," Whiskey said, after a bit. "You're right. It's not."

They stood like that for a bit, November crying softly into Whiskey's shoulder; it occurred to November, after a few minutes, that this was the first time Whiskey had ever held her like this. It was soft, gentle; impossible, really, but then, she'd never cried like this in front of Whiskey before -- she'd never cried in front of Whiskey _period_. But then again, Victor and Sierra had never -- it was just like --

The thought of Julia, lying pale and cold in her casket, so long ago, how Victor and Sierra wouldn't even have _that_ , made fresh tears spring to her eyes and she squeezed them shut tightly to keep from crying further, though her eyes burned.

"Oi," said a voice behind them. "What's this? I know I'm banged up pretty badly, but I'm not dead _yet_."

November wiped at her eyes quickly, as she and Whiskey stepped apart, turning in the direction of the voice. It was Kilo, sitting up in the backseat of the Impala, holding her head and staring at the both of them. Blood had dried on her lip and under her nose where she'd gotten hit. There was a large, dark blood stain on the front of her shirt -- Foxtrot's parting gift, a deep cut right across her stomach -- but the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

Kilo hobbled out of the car, leaning heavily on the door and frame for support. She took a step forward and stumbled; Whiskey reached out to help her, but Kilo caught herself, murmuring an "I'm fine," and straightening up once more.

"What's wrong then?" she asked, glancing over at November, still leaning on the car. "Why're you crying?"

Whiskey hesitated. "We won," she finally said. "Alpha's dead. So is Omega. But we lost some people in the way -- Victor first, Sierra at the end."

"Oh." Kilo frowned, stared at her boots. "I'm sorry," she mumbled after a moment had passed. "They shouldn't have had to -- well, they did die together, right?"

"Victor died almost instantly, But Sierra," Whiskey sniffed. "It was slow. She didn't want that. But she went holding onto him, if that's what you mean. She wasn't alone. We'll bury them together, when we go."

"That's the hardest part, isn't it," Kilo mused, more to herself than to anyone in particular. "Burying them."

Whiskey cleared her throat, lightly resting her hand on Kilo's shoulder. "We're going to stay here over night. Tomorrow we'll . . . well, we'll take care of things and then we'll be off."

Kilo looked up at her, then pulled away, reaching into the backseat and pulling out her coat and gloves, slipping into them. She checked the pocket of her coat; pulling out her gun, she re-attached it to her belt, letting it fall once it was secured. The metal from the chain glinted in the afternoon sunlight; it hurt November's eyes to look at it.

"I won't be going with you, Whiskey," Kilo said at last, once everything was in order and she'd rolled the sleeves of her coat up to her elbows, tightening the straps on her gloves. "I wish that I could, but it's like I said -- I don't keep house with anyone. Not even you. You can keep the rest of your money, by the way," Kilo added, nodding in November's direction. "I've decided I don't need it."

"Alright," November agreed, faintly.

Kilo mock saluted them. "It's been fun. See you 'round, then."

She turned to leave.

"Kilo," Whiskey said, reaching forward and catching her by her jacket. "Wait. You're injured."

Kilo smiled at her. "It's small, yeah? Nothing I can't take care of myself."

"You don't know that," Whiskey said. "I've known people to die from lesser injuries than the ones you've got there. If it gets infected, you'll die; you don't have the tools to prevent something like that from happening."

"And you do?"

"Do you really want to die alone?" Whiskey asked, quietly.

"Whiskey," Kilo said, after a long moment, putting her hand on Whiskey's shoulder and meeting her eyes. "I thought you would know this better than anyone -- we _all_ die alone." She looked over at November, flashed her a bright smile. "Anyway, I think it's time now for me to take my leave; I got what I wanted and so did you."

November sniffed, forced a smile. "It wasn't worth it though, was it?"

Kilo's own smile faded a bit. "Of course it wasn't, kid," she said. "But these things never are."

"I almost wish you'd stay with us. _Almost_ ," Whiskey added after a second, with extra emphasis. "If only because it would be just like old times."

"No, it wouldn't be," Kilo said, shaking her head. "But it was nice, while it lasted. Now, like I said, I've got to get going. I'm aiming to be out of Los Angeles by nightfall."

"Be careful," Whiskey said, softly. "I mean, that, Kilo. Really."

November watched as Kilo stuffed her gun between her jeans and belt, with a wink in Whiskey's direction. "That's what I always liked about you, Whiskey," she said, clapping Whiskey once more on the shoulder before turning away. "You pretend not to care, when really, you care more than anyone else."

And then a second later she was off, striding over to where her truck was parked and hopping inside. She gunned the engine, once, and mock saluted Whiskey and November both, before shifting into drive and taking off. November watched her car pull onto the road, watched as it slowly faded into the distance until it couldn't be seen any longer. It was only then that she realized she'd been holding her breath and released it with a heavy sigh.

Whiskey glanced over at her; November couldn't quite read the expression on her face. It was a mixture of too many things: grief, exhaustion, anger, relief. It was all too much; November knew that the same expression was reflected on her own face, her whole body aching and tired, while her stomach was still twisting itself up into anxious knots.  
   
She climbed up onto the hood of the Impala, wordlessly pulling out cigarettes for both herself and Whiskey. She handed Whiskey hers; Whiskey took it, leaned against the car beside her. They were quiet for a long time.  
   
"Well, kid," Whiskey said at last, shouldering her shotgun and staring out at the sunset, the unlit cigarette held between her teeth. "It looks like it's just you and me."  
   
"Don't call me that," November said, striking a match and lighting both their cigarettes. "I'm not a fucking kid."  
   
"'Course you aren't," Whiskey said, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. "'Course you aren't."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the midnight that lasted forever (that old saying about lovers in wartime)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/438040) by [majesdane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane)




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